Stop Motion
by iamtheletter13
Summary: It was wrong. Pete knew it was wrong, Gary would have known that it was wrong if he could comprehend such a concept, but they kept coming back to each other regardless. Shota, lots of smut, BDSM, yaoi, violence, and the twisted kind of "romance" associated with GaryxPetey. Darkfic.
1. Who Says?

Who Says?

[A/N: **Disclaimer:** I do not own Bully, it is owned by Rockstar Games. I do not profit from the making of this story.]

Pete was sleeping silently, as he usually did. His emotions, though, were apparent on his face. He was dreaming of something unpleasant, something that made his pretty features grimace in agony.

The door to Pete's dorm room creaked open, and Gary crept in, heavy boots th-thumping as he approached the sleeping boy's bed. He had been unable to sleep, and was, after becoming tired of his hand-held videogame, bored. His first thought was to leave the dorm completely, but he wasn't in the mood to be interrogated by the adults that watched over the school. Plus, there was little to nothing to do outside of the grounds, and the gates locked after twelve.

Peter stirred, and Gary froze, continuing on after the smaller male stilled again. He was at the bed then, looming dangerously in his costume, his once-bland features twisting into a sadistic grin. Gary knelt as quietly as he could onto the mattress, but the springs creaked in protest and Pete was awake.

The brunette's eyes snapped open, and his mouth widened in an attempt to scream that was thwarted by Gary's hand. The older of the two smiled wider, and leaned in towards the other, teeth flashing maliciously in the light from the shade-less window.

"Hush there, Petey. I couldn't sleep. Hope you understand." At this, the younger squirmed violently. Gary was a well-known sadist, and Peter was rightfully frightened.

"Now Petey," Gary whispered, "I'm gonna remove my hand, and you're gonna stop squirming and stay quiet. Nod if you understand."

Peter turned white, his eyes widened, and he froze, breath shallow through his nose. He nodded without meaning, knowing that if Gary were any closer he would start shivering uncontrollably. Gary had the fiercest, wildest eyes, beautiful and spiteful at the same time. They looked through Pete, dug into him, stabbed and tore and made the scarred boy charismatic and damn near irresistible.

"Good boy." Gary said, and he pulled his hand away, as promised. One leg swung over Pete's torso, and Gary was sitting on his stomach.

"I'm bored, and was hoping that you could provide some entertainment. Whadd'ya say?" Pete wasn't listening; he was preoccupied with what the other teen was wearing.

Gary was dressed as a military officer, only instead of blue, green, or camouflage, he wore a wonderful deep black. His costume, strange as it was, was aesthetically pleasing; demanding authority, fitting, and slimming.

"You like it? It's my Halloween costume. Thought I'd wear it early, just for fun." Gary had noticed that the smaller male was eying, which meant that he was staring. Violet overpowered Peter's face, and he averted his eyes. Even so, he could feel those lovely optics burning little holes into the side of his head.

"What is it, eh Petey? Do you like it a bit too much? Would you like to…" Gary paused, resting his hands on either side of the younger male's head and leaning in closely enough for Pete to feel his breath on his skin.

"…Take it off of me?"

Pete's face reddened furiously. God, he _did_ want to, he wanted to tear it off of him, to forget the buttons and zippers and yank the stubborn fabric away with his teeth. He wanted to leave marks with clawed fingers and a salivating mouth, to struggle with the older teen, to challenge that smug grin and those inhuman eyes in the only way he knew how. He was staring again.

"Then do it, Petey. If you don't want to I understand, but if you do, feel free. I won't tell anyone, promise."

_This is a bad idea._ Peter thought to himself, but his hands would not listen. They pulled themselves out from under the blanket, his fingers fumbling with the first button of Gary's jacket, and his grin suddenly dropped. Pete's already shallow breath hitched, then quickened, and his blood pounded in his ears. The next button was easier, the third even more so, and he was able to pull the coat carefully off of Gary's shoulders. Peter then worked at the shirt under it, pulling the buttons through the holes tediously. Gary wasn't having that, and he swatted Pete's hands away before he could undo the fourth one.

"You're making me anxious." He snapped, and then yanked his shirt carelessly from where it had been tucked into his pants and over his head. Peter's blood left his face.

Timid fingers reached out and trailed a line down Gary's chest, stopping at his navel. Gary was slender but still muscular, and his skin was flawless, save the occasional scar. The redhead touched one, and Gary shivered suddenly.

"All right, you've undressed me. What now?"

"I don't know." He knew, and he hated himself for the obvious lie.

With a sudden movement, Gary shifted himself from Peter's stomach to his groin and ground sadistically.

"What should I do with _this_?"

Pete buckled and gasped, grabbing out his hands wildly. He was aroused, and Gary somehow knew.

"Christ! Don't do that!" Pete hissed through clenched teeth, and Gary chuckled lightly.

"What, this?" And he ground again, forcing the younger to arch his back and wriggle his hips.

"Goddamn you, Gary!"

"Why? You like it." Replied the teen, grinding again and laughing his deranged laugh.

"Yes, but I know you're just playing with me. You'll stop, I know you will." Peter was fairly proud of his speech, but his eyes were locked on the other male's torso.

"Who says?"

"Gary, you know this is immoral. Why on earth are you even-" Peter was cut off mid-sentence, letting out a hissing noise when Gary reach up his pajama shirt and drew his nails down his back.

It hurt just enough to be thrilling, the pain adding to the euphoria rising in his groin. In response to the dainty male's noise, Gary brought his mouth to where Peter's neck met his shoulder and bit down. Pete mewled and clawed at the older teen's shoulders.

"See? That's appropriate conversation." Gary hissed into the redhead's ear, making him shiver before he bit down and sucked at the already-bruised flesh.

The two boys rocked, clawing and biting and moaning in a violent showing of affection. Through the blankets, through their clothing, very little skin actually touching, they felt each other. Their pulses matched, a furious pounding in their ears, their breathing erratic. Peter came first, sucking in a long breath to hold back a scream, Gary stopping to watch the younger male lapse completely.

When Pete finally stopped convulsing and fell limp below Gary, he smirked and chuckled darkly.

"I'm not done yet, Petey. How are you going to rectify this situation?"

Looking up at the older teen, he finally remembered his well-placed dread, and his stomach twisted.

"Wh-what do you want me to do?" It was stupid. There was no end to the horrible things Gary could - and probably would - do.

"You know exactly what I want you to do, don't you?" The scarred teen snarled, and Peter's heart thumped hard in his chest despite the crash of his orgasm.

"No- no, I won't let you-"

"You didn't actually expect that I'd be this nice, did you?"

That was true; peter hadn't expected the kindness, and if it could be used as a bargaining chip, it might be worth it.

"What do I get?" The smaller male tried, squirming under the sheets.

"Bargaining, are we? How about protection? You let me fuck you, I make sure nobody bothers you." Gary replied, a dangerous smile on his face.

Timidly, Peter nodded, and Gary hopped off the bed. The youngest kicked the blanket off and began unbuttoning his pajama shirt with the same frightened uncertainty he had undressed Gary with. Pete could see the anxiety in Gary's face, the sadist shuffling his feet and biting his lip when the shirt was off and he fumbled with the string of his pants. When the knot was undone, Gary wouldn't wait any longer, and the tediousness off the situation was making his smile fade to an angry grimace. Teeth showing and muscles tense, Gary pinned down the younger boy's arms, forcing a surprised yelp out of him. He wrapped his hand over both of the teen's thin wrists and used the other one to grope him aggressively. Peter's look of horror melted into pleasure when the prodding hand snaked into his pants, rubbing then stroking with a little more force than had been expected. When he was hard again, mewling with need, Gary pulled away, yanking peter's pants and underwear with him.

"Suck it." The older of the two ordered, and Peter looked up at him, confused.

"Suck it or I go in dry."

There was a sudden realization, and Peter's inner voice spoke past the haze of sexual need, telling him how wrong this was, how much he would regret it, but he didn't listen. Instead, he sat up and pulled Gary's slender hips towards him. He had never even kissed anybody before that night, let alone given a blow job, and his heart was in his throat. The stern look that Gary was giving him didn't help in the least, but he wouldn't back down for fear of him keeping his promise. It wasn't as though the scarred boy was above doing that.

Peter wasn't tedious this time, unzipping and pulling it out almost eagerly. He licked, trying the taste, and when he felt hands lacing through his hair, he opened his mouth, taking it in a best he could. When he pulled away, Gary growled unhappily, shoving his head and thrusting his hips forward. Tears welled up in Peter's eyes, and he made a pitiful noise, sucking nonetheless.

"Enough." Gary huffed, yanking the younger teen away by his head and pulling him into a standing position. He turned the teen away from him, grabbing onto the back of his neck, then pressed himself at his entrance.

"Gah- I don't-"

"Shut up and take it." Snapped the other male, and he thrust in mercilessly.

Pain shot through the younger's body, and he yelped into his mattress, nails digging hopelessly into the crumpled sheets, and Gary thrust again. Gary was huffing and growling every once in a while, his hand rested on the other teen's hip as he fucked him, pulling him back with every thrust. The first few times, it was agony, but then euphoria flushed peter's body, and the sharp noises intensified.

"Jesus- you're-" nails scraped down a pale back, leaving contrastingly red lines "You're loud."

Pete was pushing against the other boy's rhythmus now, every intrusion hitting his prostate - hard. His hand found its way to his crotch.

"You must like it." hissed the scarred teen, and he leaned over to bite down on the nape of Peter's neck.

Suddenly, and with an almost violent force, the youngest came, tightening and mewling, forcing the other to do the same. Peter collapsed on his bed, knees hitting the floor, and - shaken - Gary collapsed over him. They both sucked in air greedily, unaware of their surroundings.

After a while, Gary finally stood, Peter flopping to the floor, no longer having something there to support him.

"Thanks, Petey."

Peter was too tired and ashamed to speak. He only managed the strength to pull himself onto the bed and curl his knees to his chest. The sadist left after dressing, a sharp smirk on his damaged face.

"We should do this some other time."


	2. The Canopy

The Canopy

It had been almost three weeks since Gary forced his way into the smaller male's room. Peter was unable to even look him in the eyes, and after his walking was back to normal, he maintained his limp, if only to try to prove a point. Gary held strong to his word, though. Nobody had even approached the hermit, not a penny stolen from his locker or a cherry bomb in his backpack. It was freeing in a horrifying way. Peter had hoped that things would go back to normal, but the forgotten swirlies were just reminders of his victimization.

Literature, the drunk instructor babbling nonsense at them through a liquor haze. He was daydreaming about Gary, something he did without even realizing it, and because he had nothing to keep his mind off of it, the only thing in his brain was skin flecked over with bruises and scars, glistening with sweat. A shiver went down his spine, and he coughed to hide the emotion.

Pete walked slowly towards the gym, intending on skipping that class by sitting in a hidden grove behind the building. He would read or listen to the jocks holler at the top of their lungs for no reason, the sound somehow relaxing. He enjoyed his solitude, planted in the shade as the breeze brought frigid autumn air over his clothed skin.

There was a rustling in the leaves that made Peter jerk his head from his book, and the color left his face. Gary stood in all of his intimidating glory, gazing down at his victim with razor eyes. Peter was trapped by his fear, struck still by the very sight of him.

"I've done well so far, Petey. I want payment for next month." He kicked Peter to the ground as he spoke, pressing his foot down on his chest.

Peter struggled to breathe, clawing frantically at his leg as their gazes caught. His whole body flailed, and the horror in his eyes was taken in by the older with sadistic euphoria. Gary finally let Peter breath, and he gulped at the air greedily. There was a hurt look on his face, and he tried to lift himself onto his elbows. Gary rejected this and stepped hard on his chest again, forcing him into the grass.

"Stay down, worthless bitch." He sneered through clenched teeth.

He was ominous, the very definition of aggression, and the feeling that welled in the bottom of Peter's stomach made him hate himself. The things done to him were injustices that popped into his head whenever he was aroused, and he felt as though Gary _knew_. Those eyes were infuriatingly cold, and the way he kneeled next to the teen with an air of childish delight made Peter shiver visibly.

"What's wrong, eh Petey? I've kept my promise, so why won't you?" his hand was on his clothed chest, and the younger of the two tried to melt into the ground.

Against all of his instincts, the nipple Gary found was hard before he even touched it, and the redhead's pale face flushed when it was pinched. The brunette never took his eyes from the other boy's features, a sick smirk on his mouth. Gary expected him to play along, to take every punishment with a smile, while Peter didn't know what to expect. He tried his best to keep from showing his pleasure, but there were lips on his neck and a hand on his groin. Gary rubbed until blood rushed from Pete's head and he was hard, stopping and sitting on his knees, watching the other as he squirmed in the dirt. Peter's hips wiggled and he breathed in heavy huffs, unable to contain his need.

"God, you're disgusting. Faggot." Gary sat with his legs parted just a bit, and out of the corner of his eye, Peter could see his arousal through his pants.

Pete wanted to point it out, to laugh in the sadist's face and watch his embarrassment, but the need in the teen's glare was enough to bring him into a sitting position and stare longingly into violent optics. He was on his knees in seconds, close enough to feel the other boy's breath on his face, and he kissed Gary hard. The sadist's eyes were wide with surprise, but he kissed back eagerly, wrapping his hand around the smaller male's head.

Peter was on his back again, their open mouths trapped in the kiss, lips and tongues and teeth dancing with an air of naivety. Gary's hand snaked up the other male's shirt, bundling it up near his neck, and attacked the younger male's chest with his mouth. He sucked and nibbled hard enough to leave red, flushed, would-be bruises, nails digging into Pete's shoulder blades. He knelt on the grass, the ginger's legs wrapped and locked around his chest.

"Ask for what you want." Gary demanded with a huff of shushed breath.

Peter didn't know how to answer, he just squirmed under him. His mind was in a haze just as it had been a month before, and his back arched against the sadist's hand. He wanted to order him around and challenge him, but he would have had to fight his nature. It was infuriating, and his legs moved so they were wrapped around Gary's hips, dragging his groin to meet the other boy's. He ground, and Gary growled a low, husky noise.

"W-whore." Gary managed, pinning the redhead's arms to the cold soil by the elbows, grinding back hard.

"I want to fuck you into the ground. I managed to steal lube from the porn store, so it'll go better this time." Gary's voice shook, but his eyes smiled with confidence.

"F-fine." Peter hated himself for agreeing, knowing full well that was _not_ what he wanted, the back of his mind screaming with rage.

Gary was surprised he treated the statement like a question, but the older male was tugging at Peter's pants anyways, not even bothering to unbutton them. The younger male whimpered unhappily, half from the lack of attention, half from the realization that pain would flood him and keep him from properly walking for at least a week. He opened his eyes, not realizing they had been clamped shut, and looked up at the canopy.

_The canopy._

They were outside, Peter completely exposed, the jocks not twenty feet away. There was a fence on one side, and the thick brush hid them pretty well, but one shout or groan would give away their position, and Pete would be a laughing stock. Even more of a laughing stock than he already was.

"G-Gary, s-stop." He pleaded suddenly, and the sadist looked up from the space on his chest that he was attacking with his teeth.

"We might g-get caught." He whimpered, the noise no louder than a whisper, and twice as breathy.

"You better shut the fuck up, then." Gary replied easily.

It was as though he had anticipated this, tongue lapping at a growing blemish on the younger male's ribcage. He sucked on a lower spot, grinned against soft flesh, and eyed Peter with an intimidating air. His hand returned to Peter's arousal, stroking, getting pained whimpers from the writhing boy. He hovered his mouth over one of the bruises he had inflicted, hot breath brushing against goose bump-covered flesh.

"Use your shirt as a muffle." He suggested evenly, and without warning, took the other male into his mouth.

Peter made a choked noise, quickly stuffing the crumpled fabric into his mouth and groaning breathlessly into it. Gary was good, way too good, and the other male was having trouble keeping his head on straight. The first bob was Heaven, the second even more so.

A tongue darted out, pressing and flicking over the sensitive flesh, the back of Gary's throat relaxing. Peter clawed at his scalp, incapable of bucking up with two firm hands shoving his hips roughly into the ground. Pete was holding back the intense urge to yank at dark hair; that wouldn't have gone well, he knew, so all the dainty male did was whimper and groan into his makeshift gag, finding himself close, hot white behind his eyelids.

Even against his will and every logical voice in his head, Peter's hand yanked downwards, and he felt the gentle brush of teeth that seemed nonexistent before. There was a gagging sound, an angry grunt that vibrated in Peter's entire body, then the wet heat was gone and dark eyes were glaring into his own.

"Shouldn't have done that, Petey." He coed with an angry grimace on his beautiful features.

Peter swallowed dryly, still huffing, bucking a few times into nothing but still unable to find his release. Gary saw the pained look on his captive's face and smirked darkly. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a small circular tube filled with blue-tinted fluid. He placed it next to the other male's head tauntingly, and through a lusty haze, Peter managed to read the label. It was lubricant.

"See, I was going to use this, but you're a terrible little bitch." The voice sliced into his ears like razors, and Peter bit his bottom lip, finally finding the courage to look into intimidating eyes.

"Hngh p-please use the l-lube. P-please." Peter whimpered, spitting out the shirt, and Gary leaned up, sitting on his heels.

Gary tapped his chin, mock-deliberating, before glaring down at the male again. He unzipped his pants and took it out, pressing at the battered male's entrance tauntingly. Before, there had been something to ease into it, but now there was nothing but friction, and the thought made Peter squirm backwards. With uncharacteristic aggression, he took up the bottle and stuck it into Gary's face, panic on his features.

"You'll make me b-bleed." He tried, and the other male frowned.

"Fine, but you have to do all the work." With that, Gary shifted his legs from under him and sat on the grass with an amused smile on his thin lips.

Peter didn't need another invitation, fumbling with the bottle and knelling before the sadist. He squirted some of the lubricant onto his palm unsurely, then stroked Gary, who grunted with approval. More fervent, the pulsating in his abdomen becoming very, very hard to ignore, he shuffled forward, straddling Gary's lap and positioning himself properly.

Without warning, Gary's hands shoved downwards on his hips and he held back a yelp, clinging to broad shoulders and nestling his face into the nape of his neck. There was nothing but pain again, but when he pulled up and went back down, Gary smashed into that little bundle of nerves, making him groan into the fabric of his white dress shirt. His own shirt had fallen from where it was bundled at his neck, and they were moving faster, noises increasing with every rough thrust. Gary was bucking his hips upwards, pelvises colliding with painful force, both of the males loving every second of it. Peter came almost immediately, against both of their clothed chests, biting tender flesh through Gary's shirt. There were specks of white behind his eyelids, and he groaned more loudly than he meant to, entire body slackening. There was a moment of stillness before they were suddenly flipped, Peter on his back, Gary thrusting again.

"C-Christ!" Was all the younger male could muster, the thrust sending ripples of shocked euphoria through his body.

Gary grinned down at him, rough, slow movements sending Peter back into the lust-filled state he had been in before. He was hard again, every smash against his prostate yanking him into a thoughtless spiral. He didn't really have a chance to recover, and Gary was fucking again relentlessly, hands firmly on his hips to prevent him from pulling away. He was pressing up and off the ground, one of his hands at his mouth, teeth digging into his knuckles. The noise was still too loud, and though Gary was quite enjoying the way he moaned - like a schoolgirl - it was dangerous.

"Shut up, you little slut! You want the jocks to find you like this?" He spoke with a hint of sadistic pleasure, the thought of Peter exposed to the entire school sending a wave of pleasure through him.

Because the younger male didn't know what else to do, he shot his hands out, one yanking at brown hair, the other tugging on the vest Gary was wearing. He pulled him, legs locking behind his back at the ankles, into a rough kiss, and the two males groaned into each other's mouth. Gary sucked and nibbled on Pete's tongue, who wiggled it uselessly in his mouth, huffing through his nose and feeling a tightness in his lower abdomen.

Pulling away from the aggressive kiss, Gary sped up his thrusts, grunting with effort at the merciless fucking. Peter held his mouth open, choking back noises that left muffled and pitiful. They rocked, Gary's hand finding its way to the saliva-coated member he had been worshiping before, stroking with quick motions and causing the hermit to arch his back and huff breathlessly.

They came together, Peter climaxing on the sadist's hand, Gary yanking at his hips and shivering over the other. He toppled, both of them utterly exhausted, with brown hair on a pale chest. Because he had nowhere to be, Gary only rolled off of the battered boy and stared at the grey-tinted sky, one hand on his chest, the other in the grass, dripping with Peter's shame.

"See, that wasn't so hard, now was it?" The older of the two chirped, lolling his head to look at the slightly bitter expression Peter wore.

"I hate you." Was the only reply Pete could manage, but it was half-hearted with what would have been a laugh hidden behind it had he enough energy to do so.

"I know you do, Petey. I know."


	3. You Have No Idea

You Have No Idea

[A/N: I was listening to Radiohead – Wolf at the Door and Nine Inch Nails - Closer when I wrote this. YouTube the Hell outta those songs, if you want a better grasp on how I see this relationship. Also, Matthew Good Band – Weapon is a good song. That has nothing to do with this fic, though.

There will be plot soon, I'm just having too much fun torturing poor little Petey. There's a little bit of fluff in this chapter, which I have trouble with, so let me know if I got it right.]

Peter was staring at the ceiling. The shadows that were flickering over it, light from the moon slipping past the tree outside the teen's window, made the gentle night breeze seem almost sinister. He was the one that was unable to sleep this time; might have been the fear of a certain brown-haired sadist that insisted in tainting his personal space, might have been the usual bouts of insomnia that anybody who had been forced into Bullworth experienced. Pete was only thinking about how terrible it would have been to wake up the next day, to the blaring alarm that would tear through his head like a parasite. He sighed, tucked his hands under his pillow, and rolled to face the door.

His dorm was open, the male not having the energy to close it after he had collapsed in bed. The exhaustion was all for naught, though; he probably wouldn't be able to sleep a wink until the sun started to rise, then he would drag himself to his classes. He considered skipping and sleeping in, knowing that nobody would really notice him gone; nobody but Gary.

The thought sent a shiver down the teen's spine. Idle time made him think, and for some sick reason, his thoughts were always drawn to that boy. He shook his head, a noise catching in his ears. Late at night, there were often little electronic sounds coming from the common room, somebody dragging themselves out to play on it. Usually, it was dull enough to be ignored, and Pete had better things to worry about than some kid with a videogame itch, but every beep and whistle was like fire in his ears. That, and the growls that he recognized but couldn't place were making something tingle in the pit of his stomach.

Slipping out of bed, the bite of winter hitting his skin, he peaked out of his room, seeing the ever-moving flashing of the game. He went back to his bed, grabbed the blanket from his mattress, and wrapped it around his dainty, shivering form. He was wearing plain pajamas, a pale, silky blue that was obviously too big for him. It was his usual night clothes when the weather was chilly, sleeping in basketball shorts and a wife-beater when it was hot, but it so rarely was in his chilled prison.

His bare feet made very little noise on the dirty floor as he stalked, the blanket trailing behind him. He stopped before reaching the common room doorway, breath hitching in his throat, realizing exactly why the growling was familiar. It was Gary who was playing the game at such an ungodly hour, and he was most likely walking into something he would regret later. He pressed his lips together and released a shaky breath, sucking in oxygen more noisily than he had intended when he realized he hadn't properly inhaled since leaving his dorm.

There was a pause, the music behind the game the only indication of life, before it kicked up again. Peter, who had lost all of the blood in his face, swallowed thickly and continued forward because his feet hated him. He sat on the couch without really thinking, watching Gary playing with frightened astonishment.

_What is wrong with me?_ He wondered coldly, furrowing his brows and bringing his knees to his chest. His eyes refused to leave the other teen, who didn't seem to notice him at all. Gary was still clad in his school uniform, probably knowing that he wasn't going to sleep, not when there was a high score he needed to beat and so little free time to do it. They were encased in their thoughts until Gary suddenly lost, kicking the arcade game with a steel-toed boot and hissing a stream of curses at it.

The older male leaned his forehead against the screen and his knuckles turned white with force as he gripped the sides roughly. He had been almost there, just a few more precious seconds away from beating that indistinguishable signature of his newly found rival, and he had crashed. _Crashed_. He sighed heavily, closing his tired eyes and feeling the sting of his ignored blinks finally melt away. He turned with light footsteps, as not to wake his dorm mates and be thrown into a fight, then leaned back against the large box of wires and mechanics.

Peter's eyes widened, huddled into a ball on the couch, hoping that the blankets and darkness would conceal him from this obviously frustrated sadist, feeling a shiver shoot down his spine and right to his groin. That thought was terrible, unthinkable, and he tossed it away immediately.

It didn't take long for Gary to realize he wasn't alone in the quiet room. There was the almost tangible presence of fear, like he was with a frightened child. He took a deep breath, a small smirk on his damaged features when the familiar scent of something too floral to be masculine hit his nose, and he opened his eyes to glare down at Peter. He tilted his head and crossed his arms over his chest, wondering why he wasn't snuggled in his bed, instead watching his torturer with wide eyes.

"It's late." Peter suddenly shot out, voice shaking, and he stood, turning away from the older male, who dug his gaze into the back of his head.

"It is, isn't it? What are you doing stalking around, eh Petey?" The dark haired male replied with a silky-smooth tone.

Peter heard heavy footsteps in his direction, and he hurried out of the room, stopping suddenly when the warm blanket was wrenched out of his grasp. Gary had stepped on it as the other teen tried to flee, leaving him surrounded by chill. He was still - dreadfully still - for a moment, glancing at the tall male from over his shoulder.

Gary was standing with a deadly smile, wrapping one arm around the other male's shoulders and forcefully leading him in the other direction. Soon, they were at Gary's room, slightly ajar and lightless. The sadist shoved Pete through the doorway, knocking it open completely and stepping in himself. He closed, then locked the door behind him, looming over the hermit, who was scrambling to sit up. It was too early for payment, they both knew, but Gary was dreadfully frustrated.

"Those pajamas are ugly." He said with a gravelly voice he used only when addressing his favorite toy, and Peter glared up at him.

"Shut up, Gary." He snapped, desperately trying to hide the fact that he was unbelievably frightened and painfully aroused.

"They would look much better on the floor." Gary nodded towards him expectantly, but Pete only brought his legs to his chest.

There were footsteps that sent shivers through the younger male's body, then Gary was stooped over the huddled form on his floor, grinning with malicious intent at the all-too-feminine face before him. Calloused fingers slipped through red hair that was too short to properly grab hold of, the entire hand resting on the top of Peter's head, nails digging into his scalp. Pete tugged his head backwards, away from the rough feeling that sent waves of need through his shaking body, relieved when the contact was broken.

"Don't be like that. You weren't quite this difficult last time, you know." There was something wicked hidden behind his lips, and he knelt before the other male, tugging at ankles that refused to move.

With a dangerous frown, Gary yanked the legs forward and to either side of him, glancing down at the embarrassing hardness between familiar thighs. There was a soft chuckle, before a hand cupped the tense heat, a mouth suddenly on Peter's neck. Without really meaning too, Pete tilted his head to the side, allowing the sadistic teen more access to the tender flesh, mewling into the cold air. He had been determined not to give Gary anything without his due payment, but the rolling fingers took away his capacity to think, the tongue that flicked increasing the need in the pit of his stomach.

"Hng- Gary, please stop." He tried, but he didn't really mean it, and his tone was hardly strong.

"_Gary, please stop_." Gary taunted in a high pitched, whiny voice from his place at Peter's neck, biting down and fidgeting with the string that held blue pants on supple.

"I-I mean it, Gar- Ahh!" The cold that hit his arousal did nothing for his resolve, but there was a hand pumping in seconds, and he practically melted at Gary's fingertips.

"What is it that you mean, Petey? Tell me what you'll do if I don't stop. Are you going to insult my fashion sense?" There was another breathy chuckle, right in his ear, before the lobe was nibbled on and the buttons to the younger teen's shirt were coming loose.

Peter, whose arms had been at his sides on the floor, was tugging at dark hair. He squirmed uselessly below his captor, who had him pinned against the wall of his room, such an enticing prospect. His nails dug gently into the older male's sweater vest and scalp, which got him an appreciative growl against the slowly bruising skin on his neck. He hated bruises, especially in such a provocative area, evidence that someone had ravished him, and he wanted so badly to return the favor, so his hands slipped up Gary's un-tucked shirt and his nails dragged down a scarred back.

"Shit, Petey, if you're not careful, I won't hold back." He spoke with a half-taunting-half-serious tone, eyes barely visible in the darkness, but still tantalizing.

"Like y-you've been holding back so f-far." Peter managed through small noises, Gary still jerking him off.

"You have no idea." This time, there was nothing but amusement in the husky tone that whispered down to him, and he was yanked forward on the floor by his thighs.

Suddenly, Pete was lying on his back, something hard pressing through khaki fabric against his entrance, grinding on it without really thinking. He reached out his arms, only feeling gentle, fleeting fabric, barely enough to hold on to. He was throbbing without something to pay attention to him, and he silently wished that Gary would use his all-too-experienced mouth. The thought sent another ripple of heat through his flushed body, bucking down on the equally hot thing that was teasing at him.

"You want it that bad, eh?" The sadist spoke from his upright position between pulsating thighs.

Gary's eyes, which easily became accustomed to darkness, mapped out the mostly naked boy before him. He had a feminine air to him, even his physique, which was curvy and soft. The thin layer of fat, much unlike his own sharp, protruding muscles, almost maintained the illusion of a girl, albeit flat chested. One of Gary's hands left Pete's hips to fold completely over the would-be breast, the hardened nipple pressing into his palm, then he trailed the appendage down, dragging his nails because Pete mewled so beautifully, to the thigh that was tightly shoved against his side. He watched as the pale skin puffed out around his fingertips, twitching when the younger male ground against him with insatiable need. _That_ was definitely not female, but Gary didn't care in the least, not when he was mostly willing to take every rough bit of treatment he could throw at him.

"The lube is in that drawer- unless, of course-"

Gary didn't have an opportunity to finish speaking before he was shoved backwards and onto his heels, Peter standing, pale blue fluttering about his body. He tore open the drawer with bitterness he didn't care to hide while Gary made his way to his bed. He sat on the edge, feet still planted on the floor, grinning at Pete with lust-filled eyes.

He patted his knees with nervous tension, and Pete let a portion of the blue-tinted fluid fall into his palm. He stood, one hand on his supple hip, the other extended, waiting with muted impatience. They stared each other down for a moment before Gary rolled his eyes and undid his pants, just enough to get it out, cold fluid hitting him immediately. There was a knee between the sadist's legs, a hand pumping him, hot breath ghosting over his face.

"Come on, now." Gary growled at him, flicking a tongue out to meet soft lips, hands on the other male's waist.

He pulled his chest so that Peter's front was brushing against oddly soft cotton, and the younger teen shuffled so he was hovering over Gary's length. He kept his legs firm, making sure he wouldn't be surprised again, and slowly pressed down on the slick thing. Gary let out a hot breath, resting his forehead against the smaller teen's shoulder, Peter gasping at the ceiling. There was a moment of stillness, Gary biting into the supple flesh before his gaping mouth, Peter adjusting to the brilliantly painful intrusion.

He wiggled around him, tightening to see what kind of reaction he could manage, and was met with vibrations against a throbbing wound. Gary was having trouble with the tediousness; he always had trouble with someone doing anything too slowly, so his hands grabbed onto the soft skin of Peter's ass and forced him upwards, smashing him back down. Peter wasn't exactly surprised by the forcefulness, but he yelped anyways, hands moving to Gary's hair and ripping his mouth away from his chest. There was a stream of bloodied saliva, and the younger male kissed him roughly, intruding his mouth with his tongue, tasting salty copper. Gary had no idea that Peter could be so aggressive with his actions, and it sent a shock right between his thighs, pushing up against another downward thrust. He kissed back, just as strongly, pulling away and relishing the whine it got him. One of his hands trailed up a battered torso, grabbing onto the blue-grey shirt and yanking it down his arms.

Suddenly, Pete's arms were wrenched against his sides. They were restrained by the pajamas he was wearing, the thing wrapped around and bunched at his elbows. Gary had his hand enclosed around the fabric, making it impossible for Pete to pull his hands away from the article of clothing. Horrified, He looked at the other male, who shoved him downwards, and the look of well-placed terror was replaced with euphoria.

Gary moved them so that Pete was on his back on the bed, shoving into the bound male relentlessly. Peter moaned loudly, huffing, straining against the shirt holding him in place. His back was arched, chest expanded, heaving and shaking with every little motion. Gary was now smashing against his prostate with every thrust, clawing at his thighs and grinning wildly. Peter, who had only just mustered the confidence to take control, was powerless again, slamming his eyes closed and pressing up against the delicious pounding. He opened his eyes, glanced down at the throbbing thing between his thighs, then looked pleadingly up at Gary. He took the hint and pulled a hand away from where it was making red divots into Pete's hips with its nails to pump the younger. It wasn't long before the hermit was practically seeping, a thumb ghosting over the tip and wiggling into it.

Peter gawked and held a noise in his throat, trying not to scream as he found himself close to his climax, then he was closer, and there was a pain that shot through him. He pried his eyes open to look at Gary with confusion, losing some of the flush in his face when daunting eyes stared down at him with sadistic euphoria. He had prevented his climax with two fingers pinched onto the tip, still thrusting.

"You said I wasn't holding back." He purred huskily, the smaller teen barely registering the words.

He was shoving up against him frantically, only finding more pain shoot up his spine, an insatiable need throbbing at his entire body. It was torture to have every thrust land on his prostate, then there was a hand stroking him, and he wanted to scream in frustration. He tried to shove the other male off of him completely and finish himself, but his hands were bound under his shaking form, and he was powerless against the abuse.

"Gar- shit! Please!" Peter hissed out with rage, and there was a chuckle above him.

"Please _what?_" Gary replied, thrusting slow and stirring inside of him, making the other teen gasp loudly.

"L-let me come. Please." He tried, calmer this time, but there was ferocity hidden behind his façade.

"No." The sadist said frankly, pumping his hand and continuing his relentless thrusting.

Gary found himself close, Peter taking to systematically tightening around him, only drawing more euphoria out of his scarred body. His thrusting became erratic, and he let go of the younger teen's tip, stroking a few times. They both came hard, Peter harder than he ever had before, feeling absolutely spent beneath the heaving male.

Gary rolled onto his side, so that one of his arms was draped over the shivering boy, staring tiredly at the pale, surprised features before him. Peter was still reeling, though, barely able to form a coherent thought after the wonderful climax he had experienced. It was still wracking through him, little tremors that made him twitch occasionally, not even bothered by the cold around them. Gary tugged at the blanket bunched against the wall, gently managed Pete out of his makeshift restraint, and pulled the comforter around them both. This made Pete snap out of his mindless euphoria, staring with disbelief at the other teen, who looked back at him with tired indifference.

"Sleep here." He said sharply, and jerked the naked male so that his front was touching Pete's side.

Gary had since adjusted his clothing, and it was cold, so he thought that it would be better if his toy stayed for the night. _He is just a source of body heat._ He kept telling himself, but it didn't quite rationalize the little bit of affection. Peter was too frightened to enjoy the gentle breath against his neck, the sadist's chin resting on his shoulder. He had never cuddled with anybody, really; even his mother hated the concept of physical closeness, so the fluttering in his belly was unexpected.

"Alright."


	4. Breaching the Contract

Breaching the Contract

[A/N: There's a little bit of sexless plot in this one. Get it? I flipped the saying. Oh ho ho ho ho… I crack myself up.

Peter has the worst luck, and Gary is just cruel. Big surprise. There will be smexiness in the next chapter.]

_Shit._

Peter woke up from a pleasant dream - nothing but slowly moving colors and warmth – to a scarred face that made his entire body cringe with panic. Gary was still slumbering and there was an arm wrapped around his torso. In his sleep, the hermit had shifted so that he was facing his captor, hands folded between their chests, knees curled upwards. He had fallen asleep to a palm rubbing along his side with a tenderness that neither of them was expecting, dozing into bliss with the one person he feared more than anything else.

He gently lifted his head to see if it was morning, but there was no light streaming in between the shades, and when he exhaled into the room there was a puff of white. He shivered, pressing closer into the boy before him, not wanting to, but feeling dreadfully cold. There was a faint whistle, and Pete realized that the window was open, probably had been all night, so he reached under his slightly lifted neck and tugged the blanket closer around his naked shoulders.

There was a moment of drowsy silence, the smaller male falling into soft warmth, and he pressed his face against the cotton of Gary's vest, breathing gently. Gary was awake suddenly, wrenched out of his own REM, feeling movement against him. Battered hands shot out from their respective resting places, and in seconds Pete was pinned against the bed. Gary sat on his stomach, fingers wrapped around a pale throat, face filled with insatiable rage.

Peter choked back a surprised yelp, knowing that he should be terrified but only feeling a misplaced kind of pity. He pressed his lips together, lifting his chin in an attempt to show the older male that he was not a threat, holding his hands palm-up on either side of his head. The anger and fear melted into quiet apathy, and Gary slowly came to his senses, letting out a heavy breath and moving off of the other teen.

"Get out." He said with a sad kind of resolve, avoiding eye contact with his companion.

"Gary, I-"

"Get the fuck out!" There was bitterness in his shout, and Peter had more sense than to question it.

With hurried movements, Pete stood from the bed, yanked on the pajamas that had been strewn across the floor, and slipped noiselessly from the icy room. He trotted with a pained limp, wincing when he hurried a little too quickly towards his own dorm, grabbing up the blanket that had been left in the middle of the hallway not hours before. His door closed with a gentle click, and he immediately collapsed in his bed, watching as the sun peaked out from the horizon with golden-tinted rays.

There was a curling in his stomach, knowing that he would get no sleep, comforted by the thought that he wouldn't have to deal with restlessness later that day. Because he didn't have much of a choice, he flipped off his alarm clock – which had yet to go off – and headed towards the shower. The hot water felt wonderful on his freezing body, but there was a painful stinging in his backside that he recognized. The thought made him press his forehead against the tiles on the wall and feel nothing but heat envelope him.

Gary was an unsolvable puzzle. He was cruel - it was in his nature - but it was as though he didn't at all mind being tender sometimes. Peter was being wrenched to and fro, spitefully tight fingers tearing him in two, always accompanied by intensity. A dreadful, fantastic intensity.

_Shit shit shit shit shit!_ He cursed to himself again, glancing down at the sudsy water that was slipping past the drain, tinted slightly pink. He had no idea what to do, and there were so few options. He could lay back, take it, move to the sadist's whims, or he could resist and have the deal fall out from under him.

He doubted the deal was all he was dreading about resistance, though. The sex was wonderful, even if it was probably more than he bargained for. Pete had so little leverage, so little control, but the very thought made him shiver with glee. That, and if he told the older teen to leave him alone, he would be subjected to more cruelty, probably of similar nature. He most definitely didn't want _that_.

After dressing, Pete headed down to the cafeteria and grabbed a dry apple from the "fresh" fruit bin. It was bad, but it was food, and he bit into it on his way to Art class. He arrived much earlier than class was supposed to be held, and found his instructor with her head on her desk, snoring gently.

"Ms. Philips?" Peter tried tentatively, the woman snorting and sitting up briskly.

She looked around for a moment, as though she wasn't sure of where she was, sighing unhappily when her frantic gaze caught the papers she had been grading. She lolled her head to either side, stretching out the sore muscles before glancing up at the nervous-looking boy before her. Pete was fidgeting with the edge of the desk, rocking on his heels and staring at the floor between his feet.

"Is there something I can help you with?" She tried, struggling through a sleepy haze.

"Actually, I've got a-" Peter trailed off, knowing that there was no way he could muster the strength to admit his torture, if it could even be called that.

"No, never mind." He finally said after a pause that made Ms. Philips nervous.

"Mr. Kowalski, what is it?" The words were soft and tender, with just a hint of caring worry.

Pete looked from his feet and into frightened eyes, smiling weakly then averting his gaze again. There was no way,_ no way _he could tell her about him and Gary. If she took it too seriously and had Gary detained, he would never forgive himself, and if the sadistic male found out, he would never forgive him. There was a shiver sent down his spine at the thought of revenge. Not only was the scarred teen manipulative and well-liked by many of the other people at the school, he was cruel to no end.

"Peter…" She tried again, reaching out her hand only to have the pale boy yank away from the contact.

"No, don't worry about it." He said, putting on his best Sunday grin and limping to his seat.

It wasn't long until the bell rang and the other students filed into the classroom, chattering loudly as they settled after their restful night. Pete was having serious trouble keeping his eyes open, and rested his chin on his forearms, staring wide-eyed at his teacher as she continued with her lesson. Her words, soft and mesmerizing, made him doze off almost immediately, and soon he was silently sleeping in his seat.

There was peace for a while, and Pete actually managed some rest before there was a cold, wet sting on the back of his neck. He opened his eyes groggily, seeing that more time had passed than he intended, and the class was almost over. Suddenly, there was that sting again. He moved his hand to the back of his neck and found a little wad of sticky paper clinging to his skin. He flicked it away with disgust and turned to see one of the bullies holding a straw between his lips and grinning wildly.

No, that was impossible. Pete had an alliance with Jimmy, who kept most of the real cruelty away, while his agreement with Gary should have prevented the other little tortures. Yet there he was, spitting wads at him while he dozed, ignoring Gary, which nobody did. Gary was too powerful. He looked at some of the other students around him, all holding back snickers, silently cursing the sadist, slowly realizing that the deal was off.

When the bell rang, he headed straight for the dorm, slamming Gary's room open and flicking on the light. Peter examined the place for a while, Gary nowhere to be found. He walked into the common room, again coming up short, and fumed as he left the dorm, hoping to run into the scarred boy and confront him. As he wandered, the bell rang, but he ignored it and slipped - unnoticed - past the people stalking about with hopes of finding skipping students. He heard a spiteful laugh near the shop, stepping cautiously towards it and into territory that he most definitely didn't belong in.

"Gary." He said, puffing up his chest and trying to look big, only managing to portray an unhappy child.

"Pink-shirt, what a surprise!" Gary sang out with a smirk, amused by his anger.

"We had a deal." There was the hint of a whine behind his tone, and the sadist tapped his chin.

"You breached the contract." Was the simple, bitter reply, and the taller male stood, nodding to the greasers who had been conversing with him.

"How on Earth-"

"Let's go somewhere a little more private, eh?" There were calloused fingers wrapped around Peter's upper arm and he was yanked away from the laughing group behind him.

They walked to the gravel path along the side of the school, away from parading adults that would send them to class and into quiet solitude. Gary led the other male to a dark tunnel, ducking under the wooden fence and "caution" sign to beckon the shivering male towards him. Because he didn't have much of a choice, Pete obeyed and stood in the darkness before the daunting shadow.

"Why haven't you held up your side of the bargain?" Peter cut in after an uncomfortable silence.

"You like it too much." Was the simple reply, and there was a hand on his crotch.

Peter beat his hands against Gary's front, thrashing about in the confining space. His back was against the wall of the tunnel, dirt clinging to his uniform. He wasn't going to let Gary have his way with him when there was nothing to gain.

"Stop, Gary." He said, managing to sound strong and sure.

There was a pause from the male who had his mouth hovering above the buttoned collar of his pink dress shirt. He removed his hand from the groin he had been pleasing, staring intensely into hazel optics.

"You're serious." There was surprise in Gary's tone, and he stood straighter, arms falling slack at his sides.

"You're a manipulative bastard." Peter managed.

There was water welling up in his eyes, but he refused to show Gary such a weak side of him. Before, the sex had been a trade-off, but now, without the deal, it was nothing but Gary's release of stress. He was a tool, he had always been a tool, but it didn't quite occur to him until just then. Pete didn't realize it, but his fingers were fisted around the fabric of Gary's shirt like he was hanging on for dear life.

"I hate you so much." He whispered, and there was a large hand on the back of his head.

_No, you don't._

The older male pulled Peter towards him, letting him bury his face in his chest. There was an unreadable smile on his lips when another arm wrapped around the shaking teen, holding him with firmness that he was never able to let go of. Pete broke down at Gary's fingertips, sobbing into cotton while the hand on the back of his head brushed through short hair.

"You're such a baby." Gary joked, and there was another choked sob.

With more force than he intended, the sadist yanked Peter away from him, and he would have fallen into the dirt had the wall not been there. Immediately, Pete buried his face in his hands, half to muffle the noises, half to keep Gary from looking at him. The older male rolled his eyes and turned away, staring out of the tunnel absently. There were a few moments of tension, the hermit crying desperately, the brunette stuffing his hands in his pockets while he waited. When there was nothing but the occasional hiccup from Gary's right, he turned towards him and smiled weakly.

"Come on, faggot." He called, beckoning with an outstretched hand.

Peter eyed the hand like it would have bitten him, then took it tentatively in his own, Gary grabbing roughly and leading him to the gate. There was still a dull ache in the pit of his stomach, but he chose to ignore it and not make his fragile companion shatter completely. He would get his, eventually. They walked, hand-in-hand, until they were almost at the opening that led into the school grounds and Gary glanced at the sniffling boy wearily.

"Meet me in my room tonight, and we can negotiate a new deal." Gary was staring at the space above Peter's head as he spoke, and the other male wiped his face on his sleeve.

"Yeah…" He replied, and Gary hurried away, leaving him sniveling in the cold.


	5. Fragile, Open, Human

Fragile, Open, Human

[A/N: I was listening to INXS's I Need You Tonight when I wrote this. BAM! Didn't see that comin', eh? Or maybe you did, how should I know? I lost the mood for a while when Humpty Dance came on, changed it to MSI - Uncle and wrote the Gary-involved half. The end was written to Coldplay – Viva La Vida, which is the probable source of the fluffiness. Gee, I'm dishing these chapters out like biscuits in church… Hope you enjoy~]

The rest of the day had gone by slowly, and Peter felt as though he was in a dream. His puffy eyes were mostly unnoticed, but there was a cherry bomb in his locker and all of his textbooks had been torn apart and strewn across the floor. Oddly enough, it was relieving, like things were before Gary decided he would be infatuated with the small male.

When classes were over, Peter went straight to Gary's room, finding it empty. He closed the door behind him and sat idly on the bed, waiting for him with the patience he always maintained. His hand trailed over the sheets, his nose sucked in that intoxicating smell he knew better than he should have, and his eyelids became heavy. He had no idea why; every emotion other than terror associated with Gary was alien, but he was calm. Unbelievably tired, after sleeplessness and sex and crying, but relaxed. He felt that if he went to sleep just then, he would cease to exist entirely and just fall into the gentle nothingness of eternity.

He blinked, and when he opened his eyes, he was laying on his side, breathing in more of that smell, with just a hint of something else, something enticing. He blinked again, and his legs were on the bed, curled to his chest in the usual position he slept in. Something twitched against his thigh and he gasped, realizing that he was aroused.

_See what you do to me?_ He thought, pressing his face into the mattress, closing his eyes for only a second before he glared up at the door. It was unlocked, and though the only person who would walk through it was Gary, the taunting little knob shimmered as though it was moving for a second. The tension in his muscles slackened, and he sighed aloud.

Keeping his eyes fixed on the door, he reached a careful hand to the heat between his thighs, groping roughly, like Gary would have. He was entranced, wrapped in hazy thoughts, feeling flushed all over his thin body. His breath left his mouth in a shaky hiss, and his eyes, which had been intently focused on the door, began to slip to the wall opposite him. His fingers rolled over the tender flesh through his pants, the poster of a scantily clad woman becoming a blur of color.

He was panting, legs straightening, hand managing past the button of his pants and slipping into the fabric. That smell, the inebriating smell, filled his nostrils when he sucked in air greedily, making him whimper in the back of his throat. He wasn't even worried about the door anymore, and didn't notice the gentle click or soft footsteps in his direction.

Gary hadn't expected Peter to meet with him until nightfall, not initially anticipating company, but there was a noise on the other side of his door. He had pressed his ear against the wood, furrowed his brow with wonder, then grinned madly. That was Pete _moaning_ with his embarrassed, hushed tone. He could have identified that noise anywhere, and didn't hesitate to slip inside the frigid room.

The want that had been torn away by tears earlier that day suddenly stabbed through the scarred teen when he saw that boy, on his side, hand stuffed unceremoniously into his pants. Peter's face was flushed with red, and he didn't even flinch when Gary locked the door behind him and grinned at the whorish display.

"Vulgar, absolutely crude." The older teen purred huskily, and every bit of heated color left Pete's face.

His hand tore from between his thighs and he sat up suddenly, coughing and staring at the floor. Gary stood, looming with a victoriously sadistic grin and relishing the embarrassment. Obviously, he was feeling better, and couldn't stand to keep away. He must have been as powerless to his whims as he assumed.

"In my bed, too! It was silly of me to assume you had more class." Gary spoke as he pushed the other male onto his back, not using much force, but Peter was practically rubber.

"You're nothing more than a two-bit whore, aren't you?"

"Being a whore would suggest that I had been with more than one person." Pete relied, staring with aroused intensity at the wall while his lap was straddled.

"What? You haven't been passed around like notes in class? Could have fooled me…" There was demeaning playfulness in his tone, and Peter refused to take him seriously.

Because Pete couldn't stand the teasing warmth right above him, he grabbed onto Gary's clothed thighs and pressed him down, unconsciously bucking upwards. This managed him a surprised grunt, and Gary ground back, grinning down at him as he melted. _This _was the Peter he knew, the putty in his palm, squirming against him without much thought to his actions.

It was true; the redhead had lost the connection to his logical brain. All he wanted was release, pain, stinging and delicious. Gary was right; he liked it too much, way too much, and didn't mind that his never-ending torture would continue, if only he could taste more of the sociopath above him.

Gary continued grinding; shivering at the pitiful noises that left the younger male's lips, delight shooting through him when he felt desperate nails on his thighs, then his front, not making much of a dent through his clothing. Pete tried to sit up but was shoved onto his back again, a soft chuckle leaving the sadist's mouth.

"Down, bitch." He snapped, making the smaller male growl.

"You're a – hah! – monster." Was the labored reply, but the lips pressed against his throat yanked the arguments away from him.

Peter was writhing, pressing up against the constant motion on top of his hips, tugging and clawing at anything in his reach. He hadn't been this angry about anything in a very long time, and it was translating directly into sexual frustration, which Gary wasn't even beginning to satiate. He moved to try and flip their positions but the older boy was too heavy, too strong.

Gary, on the other hand, was taking his sweet time. From the way he had been groaning into his blankets before he had been noticed, Pete was intensely aroused, probably painfully so. His calloused hands went from his shoulders, which had been pressed against the comforter, down his chest, tantalizing with feathery touches. Peter was expecting – and craving – rough movements; clawing and biting and shoving, getting none of those. It was maddening, and Gary knew it.

"You're going to have to do something for me first." The older male said, hissing the words with hot breath into Peter's ear.

At that point, Pete was willing to do almost anything, if only to get what he needed. Gary swung his leg from over him and knelt with sharp eyes and a tilted head on the bed. Pete looked him up-and-down, throbbing from lack of attention, but immediately came to terms with the other teen's silent demands.

More forcefully than either of them expected him to be, he tore at the button and zipper, Gary grunting when he was exposed to the cold air. There was a tongue darting over the tip, and Pete tried his best to remember how Gary had used his mouth, wanting nothing more than to make the other male the wordless thing he had been in the grass not two weeks before. Sucking roughly and covering his teeth with curled lips, he took the other male as far back as he possibly could, not managing to fit everything but still gagging.

Gary laughed aloud, mostly to hide the indescribable feeling that surged through him at the noise. Pete was trying his hardest, willing enough to trigger his gag reflex without even a hand on his head. It made the sadist want to thrust forward and fuck his face, but something held back that urge, perhaps the fact that Pete had a determined glint in his eyes. He pressed forward again, taking in more than before and trailing his tongue along the length when he pulled back.

"Jesus…" Gary groaned out, hunching his shoulders.

Pete had picked up a few tricks, apparently, in the time between then and the frightened fumbling he had experienced before. With another bob, Pete went even further, lips turned redder by strain, almost reaching the end, but he gagged, this one vibrating against the tip that was snug in a hot, pulsating throat. Pete pulled away, still unwavering, and though Gary was having trouble keeping his thoughts in a proper direction, he didn't even consider making him stop.

There was a press forward, this time Peter ignoring his gag reflex and managing to succeed through some miracle, pulling back with triumphant glee and roughly tonguing the tip before another plunge. He was moving much faster, Gary pressing his hips forward and huffing noisily, holding up his loosened slacks with one hand and clawing at Peter's scalp with the other. With a few more thrusts, Gary was reaching his edge, not even a little bit disappointed that he didn't have the opportunity to take the other male before his climax.

Roughly, Pete's head was pressed forward, and the faint, unpleasant taste that had been a flicker on his senses suddenly flooded him. He wanted so badly to yank his head away and spit, but there was a large, powerful hand on the back of his head. He was having trouble breathing, staring up at Gary with pleading eyes.

"Swallow it." The older male demanded, and Pete was both nauseated and horrified.

There was a growl that stung in his ears, and he realized just how serious Gary was. Holding back the desperate need to wrench his head backwards or bite down, he complied, coughing onto the sheets and wheezing when he was finally released.

"That's good." Gary said, sounding spent, but Pete was on his back again in seconds, a hand on the twitching thing in his pants.

Peter hadn't realized just how aroused bringing Gary to the brink had made him, and he was panting desperately in moments, a familiar, rough-feeling hand pumping him unevenly. There was friction, but it was delicious, and he found his release in just moments of being pleased. He came on the other male's hand and his own clothing, groaning loudly against the hand cupped over his mouth. There was silence, the kind of quiet that made Peter's ears ring, and he was completely numb for a moment, falling from euphoria and feeling just as used as he always did.

There was a groan that left Peter's mouth, turning into a half-shout-half-sob by the end of it, and he hit his arms against the mattress, Gary raising his eyebrows at the sudden outburst. He glared at the scarred male, Baring his teeth before looking at the ceiling and staring daggers at it. He had been tricked, and he had loved it – again. He felt like something dreadfully cheap, hitting the back of his head against the bed and whimpering into his hands.

"How do you do this to me?" He asked timidly, and opened his eyes sharply when there were strong arms wrapped around him.

Gary cleared his throat and held onto the now-crying male with tenderness. The bouts of lust always seemed to be coupled with the urge to pet short hair and soothe the person he hadn't really cared for before. He didn't understand it in the least and hated it, but he didn't do things that didn't amount to joy, therefore he never avoided things that would have made him happy.

Gary was happy when he let Pete crumple against him. It wasn't a kind of happy he was used to; not sex happy or manipulation happy, just something in his gut that told him it was right. It was absolutely unexplainable, but he didn't care to understand it. There were so few joys in his life, and when he found one he didn't associate with his father, he clung to it with desperation. Much like the hermit was clinging to him; fragile, open, human.

"Just go to sleep." He said against the top of Peter's head, staring at the wall with his usual intensity.

"I've got you, don't worry. I've got you."


	6. Tired

Tired

[A/N: Here's some food for thought: could someone kill themselves by locking themselves in a garage with a Hybrid? I think they could, it would just take a very, very long time. It would essentially be starving themselves to death…

This chapter delves a little more into the horrible life of everybody's favorite hermit. He just can't catch a break…]

"Kowaski!" The English teacher was shouting at Peter, but he only vaguely recognized it.

He hadn't been able to sleep properly for about a week. The nights he had spent in Gary's room did nothing for his restlessness, one interrupted by violence, the other by Gary kicking him to the floor. Apparently, there was nothing that the sadist hated more than waking next to with someone else, though Pete always rested unbelievably well in his presence. It was confusing, the way his torturer made him feel somehow safe.

When the slurred voice prodded at his ears, Peter realized that he had been sleeping. It wasn't uncommon for him to doze off during class, and because he was intelligent enough to turn in his work without strenuous coaxing, most of the teachers turned a blind eye. Mr. Galloway must have been in a bad mood, and had chosen to pick on him.

"Yeah?" The slender male slurred out, sounding just as drunk as the teacher who was sipping from a coffee mug that fooled no one.

"How do you- how do you spell 'extract'?" The teacher tried, staring at the teen with intensity he couldn't take seriously.

"Why don't you shove it, teach?" Peter glanced around the room, wondering exactly who had spoken, or rather, where the sound had come from.

The instructor staggered backwards and turned with sloppy motions, moving so that he was no longer looming over Pete. There Gary was, leaning on Mr. Galloway's desk with one arm, a bottle of liquor hanging vicariously from his other hand. He had this grin on his face that made Peter's head light; pure, unadulterated joy, coupled only by a hint of evil behind the mask he held up so perfectly.

"Give that back!" The teacher shouted briskly, and Gary faux-dropped the bottle, catching it with an amused laugh.

The class was in uproar. Everybody knew about their English teacher's drinking problem, but the only people with the authority to point it out never showed up to class. Everybody but Jimmy, that was, but he was watched like a hawk. Peter immediately stood from his seat and left the chaos of balled-up papers and shouting, slipping out unnoticed by everyone but Gary, who had probably shown up to the said classroom to meet with him.

Gary was the last person Peter wanted to see. After their failed discussion, the broken promise, and Pete actually managing to avoid him for a while, the dainty male resolved to forget the whole ordeal. That was impossible, of course, but if he stuffed those thoughts deeply enough into his subconscious, everything would be perfectly alright.

He hurried down the hallway, walking towards his locker, which was about as secure as having his things in the open, but he didn't have much valuable property left anyways. When he made it to the battered metal, he pressed his forehead against it, then smashed his head forward, proclaiming unhappily at the pain. He was utterly muddled, incapable of rational thought, torn between right and wrong.

The solution was so easy; just stop. Become invisible, disappear, but that wasn't happening. There was the problem of his libido, too, which was insistent and bitterly stubborn when it came to Gary. He hated him, loved him, hated that he loved him. Without realizing it, he hit his head against the locker again, whimpering. His legs became weak and he crumpled to the floor, wrapped into a ball of shivering weakness.

There was a tug on the back of his sweater, then he was yanked upwards, shoved roughly into the locker. His attacker was completely silent, slipping his hand into Pete's back pockets and coming up empty. The dainty male was totally still, hands on either side of him, complacent. If this person was searching his pockets, he wouldn't protest; not like he had anything of value.

The hand stuffed into his front pocket on the left side, the other moving from its place on the back of Peter's neck to yank on his arm, twisting it painfully. He grunted, arching away to try and relax the grip, which was tearing on his shoulder blade, but it was to no avail. His other empty pocket was yanked out of his pants, white fabric puffing up against khakis, and there was a roar of frustration behind him.

"Where the fuck is it!?" The stranger asked, and something in Peter's stomach dropped when he realized it wasn't Gary who was almost-molesting him.

"Where is what?" He replied, sounding apathetic, mostly because of exhaustion.

"Don't you play dumb, you little shit! I know you have it!" His arm was wrenched a little higher and Peter coughed to hide the stabbing pain.

There was a hand on the back of his head, and his face was shoved into the locker in front of him, making his vision go blurry and his knees buckle. He managed to stand when the pain in his arm yanked him from the haze of sleep that was threatening to take over. There was warm copper in his mouth, and he opened his eyes to see a splotchy smear of red on his locker. He probably had a nose bleed.

"I'm serious, I don't know what you're talking about." There was something so pitiful and tired in his voice.

"You should listen to the little faggot." That delicious voice rang through Peter's damaged head like church bells, and he smiled, his worry faded.

"What's it to you?" This person was confronting Gary, and the pain in Pete's arm melted away. With nothing to hold him up, he flopped to the ground, gently massaging his shoulder.

"What are you missing? Perhaps I can help you look for it." The sadist's tone was silky smooth, and Peter knew that could only mean rage.

"Well, I heard this little punk- Ack!" Pete rolled onto his side weakly, just in time to see Gary land a well-aimed kick to his attacker's groin.

The bully – someone Pete recognized but couldn't name – crumpled to his knees, only to have a knee meet his face, landing him on his back with a groan. Gary was grinning above him with a familiar glint in his dark eyes, and Pete had seen enough. He stood shakily from where he was, dizzy from the abuse his head had suffered, and shuffled in the other direction.

He could hear a conversation of threats and apologies behind him, but he had made his way to the staircase before anything terrible happened to the person who had been caught damaging Gary's _property_. Violence made Pete weary, and he was weak on a good day.

There were heavy footsteps behind him on the stairs, and his knuckles turned white as they grabbed onto the railing for dear life. Gary's scent was just in his reach, and he had to hold back the urge to lean into it. He wiped his nose on his sleeve, glancing at it to see the damage and frowning sadly. The crimson liquid was wet, and had drizzled down the front of his shirt. Wonderful.

"You okay?" Gary asked, but they both knew he didn't really care.

"Just tired." Pete replied, and his voice reflected the truth.

"You might have a concussion. You shouldn't be alone for at least 24 hours; just to be sure you don't die in your sleep." There was something sinister in Gary's words, and a shiver ran down Peter's spine.

Like Gary would ever consider playing nurse, or Peter would trust him to. The thought of needles would have probably given him unpleasant ideas, and all Pete wanted to do was curl up in his bed and sleep for the rest of his life. Uninterrupted by sexual deviants, preferably.

"Go away, Gary." He snapped when he was at the large front entrance of the school, and he tried his best to look fierce when he glared up at the taller male.

Gary pressed his hand almost lovingly against his face, brushing a finger over lips that puckered for him unconsciously. He smirked, victorious, at the little action that was – for all intents and purposes – an invitation. He pulled his now-bloodied hand away from the battered teen and opened the door with a sharp shove, beckoning his companion forward.

"Let's get you to bed, now." He totally ignored the demand, pushing on the small of Peter's back when he hesitated to go first.

The walk back to the dorm was uncomfortable. Even Gary could barely stand the tension, obviously stemming from Peter's anger, perhaps enhanced by his sleep deprivation. He looked terrible; circles under his eyes, body wracked with the occasional fit of shivers. He had gotten to the point where his thought processes stopped making sense, and he held tightly onto any emotion that gave him any bit of clarity. He hated Gary, that was an undisputable fact, and no amount of hormones could change that fact.

Not even if he was making an expression that made Peter want to curl into himself, or the occasional brush of a perfectly chiseled arm against his shoulder. He would hate him, he would deny him, and he would – above all – refuse the lust that was flooding his own body at the thought of returning to his room with the sadist he had luscious dreams about.

The minute he was at his door, Peter turned towards his companion, who was grinning sheepishly, but had a very wolf-like glint in his eyes. He turned the knob, refusing to break the gaze, and opened his mouth to speak.

"Leave." He said, and though it sounded sure, it was really the only thing he could get out.

It was World War III in Peter's brain. He had the desperate desire for sleep that hadn't left him for a rather long time, a twisting in his gut that wanted to flee away from the predator standing before him, and an ache in a much less innocent place that wanted to ravish Gary. The best thing for him to do was to be curt, short, and aggressive with his desire to be alone, only the desire was slowly fading.

"No." Gary's reply mirrored the attempt at intimidation, only he was much more practiced.

"Yes. Out." Peter whined as he was being walked backwards.

Gary was moving closer to him, and Pete was moving away. They were in his room, the natural light casting an unpleasant glow from the angle of the sun adding to Peter's discomfort. The back of his knees hit his bed, and Gary slammed the door behind them, not bothering to lock it. The younger male fell with a yelp onto the mattress, looking away from the dangerously enticing orbs that were stabbing into him.

"I have to make you all better, Petey. Whether you like it or not." Gary purred with the tone he knew would strike the dainty male.

Gary leaned over him, one knee pressing against Pete's groin, hands supporting himself on either side of the smaller teen's head. He breathed tantalizingly on Peter's neck, nipping softly at his Adam's apple, making the boy under him shiver and huff. He pushed uselessly on Gary's chest, but he was so tired, his arms refusing to work for him, and the throbbing in his pants didn't help either.

It was so warm, pleasant, his head spinning when Gary rubbed the top of his thigh against his growing arousal. He resigned, dropping his hands back to the mattress and letting the older teen push his shirt upwards and attack his chest with his teeth. The knee was replaced with an aggressive hand, Pete panting weakly at the stimulation, a rough tongue flicking over a nipple. His hands, which were shaking and powerless, tugged at chestnut hair.

"Gary, stop." He tried, but his hips were gently pressing into his hand, the arousal obvious through khakis.

"Oh, hush. You love it." The other male replied easily, moving so that his face was hovering over Peter's.

"No. Stop, please." His voice sounded pleading and tired. So, so tired.

Gary kissed him, Pete locking his mouth closed but wanting more than anything to return the affection with slow fervor. Gary didn't kiss him often; it was a kind, loving action, something that had only since been initiated by the smaller of the two. The kisses - gentle, fleeting pecks - were a tactic for trying to get him to open up, and Peter was failing to hold his own.

With one calloused hand, Gary explored the all-to-supple chest that was exposed to him, darting out his tongue to wiggle it past tight lips. Peter wasn't strong enough to resist the wet, prodding muscle and opened his mouth to let Gary in. The fingers that were laced through dark hair tightened, pulling him forward and locking their mouths together. He was groaning and bucking against a forceful hand, panting through his nose, and Gary had taken to rubbing himself against Pete's calf.

The two males ground against each other roughly, Gary yanking away from the sloppy, needy kiss to smirk down at him sadistically. He pulled away from him, weak fingers slipping out from dark hair. Peter blinked slowly, showing only mild discomfort and overpowering sleepiness.

"You still want me to go?" He asked, both of his hands planted on Peter's knees, parting his thighs.

"Do whatever you want…" The other male replied bitterly, and Gary frowned.

"What's wrong with you? You usually put up a fight." The sadist stared down quizzically, eyebrows knotted.

"I'm tired." Peter said blandly, managing to ignore the pain in his lower abdomen, protesting the denial.

"Go to sleep, then. I don't need you lucid to take what I want." The words made the breath leave Peter's chest, and he whimpered gently when his pants were yanked past his hips.

"Just a warning, I'm going in dry…" Gary couldn't help the glee in his tone, and Peter couldn't help his muted dread.

His underwear was tugged down, the clothing tossed away. Gary was rubbing his prominent arousal against Pete, who pressed back without realizing it, throbbing. There was a sick grin on the older male's face, and his zipped clicked slowly downwards.

"Don't, please don't…" Peter pleaded, too weak to fight him off, too heated to care.

"You had your chance, useless little bitch." And he was in him.

The pain was thrilling. Pete cried out, the noise choked and small, hand scratching against Gary's front. There was fabric in the way, and he wanted to dig his nails into scarred skin, leave his own marks, but his mind had stopped working. He was pressing down against every excruciating thrust, Gary hitting against his prostate, the pain adding to the euphoria. He must have been some kind of masochist; nobody reacted to being torn apart from the inside out like he was.

Gary was grunting with every thrust. The friction was delicious, and he couldn't help but love the pained, battered expression on Pete's face. It was contorted; mouth hanging open, eyes clamped shut, tears struggling out of their confines. Gary shoved forward roughly, a cry leaving Peter's mouth, unhinged and shameless.

"All I get is… Fuck… Dead fish Petey." His words were separated by relentless, merciless thrusts, his nails digging into the younger male's thighs.

The abuse was escalating. It was as though Gary really had been holding back, like their previous rendezvous had been preparing him for the real sadist, the person grunting gently above him. The worst part of it was that Peter loved every second of it. The burning pain struck him in waves of twisted euphoria, the forcefulness - totally void of any bit of compassion - made the struggling teen throb with thrill. He found himself close much faster than either of them guessed and was soon climaxing against Gary's clothed chest, but he wanted more.

Gary slowed down, letting the other boy fall from his indescribable high, but there were legs wrapped around his hips and he was shoved forward. The older male groaned with pleasure, returning to his previous rhythm and falling forward. His chin was pressed against the nape of Peter's neck, breathing raggedly into his ear and attempting to speak, but was suddenly at Peter's whims. There was a hand that had found its strength and was yanking at Gary's hair, leading their mouths together. When their teeth clashed, both groaned, Gary's nerves reverberating from the force.

Gary had sped up his movements, and Pete was using the legs that were wrapped around his waist to lift himself into the thrusts. When the scarred teen's tongue slipped past lips that were puffy from harsh kissing, he bit down hard enough to send shocked elation through Gary, and he practically melted. Pulling away from the kiss, Peter led the sadist's head a bit higher, fingers still tangled in dark locks, until his teeth dug into the tender skin of a scarred throat, Gary shoving into him and holding it for a moment. He then wracked both of their bodies, the bed protesting loudly at the force, with a series of untamed motions, Peter finding himself in rapture again and the older boy releasing inside him.

There was a moment of strenuous breathing, Peter limp on his back with a heaving sadist on top of him, just as spent. He stood on shaking legs and admired his handiwork with a tired smirk, walking to the door and leaning against it for support. He readjusted his clothing and smoothed out his messy hair before looking the beautiful sight over again and staring down at himself. With a satisfied chuckle, he pulled the now-dirty sweater vest he was wearing over his head, throwing it at the mostly-naked male. It hit Peter's knee, then crumpled to the floor.

"Think of it as a parting gift." Gary slurred out before leaving, but Pete was too tired to be angry.

After so long without proper rest, the dainty male pulled the sheet from where it had been neatly tucked, lazily covering his bare form, and fell into a proper rest without so much as a position change. Gary did the same, landing face-first on his own bed and dozing into warm darkness. It was the middle of the day, and he still had plotting to do, but his body was refusing to listen to his mind's demands and went out on him completely.


	7. Rubbing Alcohol

Rubbing Alcohol

[A/N: Pete has to make a difficult decision, and Gary loses his head. What's gonna happen? Cliff hanger chapter, 'cause I can.]

"I thought you'd want this back." Peter was standing in the doorway to Gary's room, holding out a neatly-folded vest, staring at a poster taped onto the wall.

Gary lifted one of his eyebrows and took the article of clothing, tossing it into his room. Peter hadn't expected for him to appreciate the care he had handled the cotton shirt with, but it still stung when the freshly cleaned thing hit the dirty floor.

Peter was feeling much better than he had been three days before. After the brutal treatment he had suffered at the sadist's hands, he found rest again, and had been sleeping soundly ever since. The circles under his eyes were gone, he held himself a little taller, and was much more focused, managing to avoid too much torture from the bullies that seemed to seek him out.

Gary stepped to the side, a silent offering for his company, and Pete stared at him wearily. He wasn't necessarily afraid, just unsure, but he paced into Gary's territory anyways. There were discarded clothes strung along the floor, soda cans and candy wrappers tossed into one corner, and posters with girls leaning against cars lining the walls. Pete pulled a chair from where it was shoved into the space under the desk and sat in it, hands folded on his lap.

"We never had the chance to address your little problem, did we?" Gary leaned against the closed door, arms crossed over his chest.

It was the afternoon, and most of the other students had gone off to visit the wreak of a carnival that had been set up near the beach, wooing girls or spending what little money they were given by their parents. Gary thought the whole thing was ridiculous, and only slinked down there to execute his sinister plots, while Peter was robbed blind almost daily and never had the extra money to go. Thus, in order to kill time that the dainty male knew would lead to trapping himself in his head, he went to try and negotiate a new deal.

"No." Pete replied weakly, tugging on the hem of his pink shirt with nervous energy.

"Well?" Gary was expectant, and Pete had no idea exactly what he could give him that he hadn't already let him take away.

The brunette practically owned Peter. They both knew it, it was an inescapable fact, and Pete found himself fighting against it less every time he was attacked. Gary had his virginity, his pride, power over him both physically and emotionally. If either of them believed in that kind of thing, they would have agreed that Gary possessed his very soul.

"What do you want?" Pete tried timidly, brushing his clammy palms down the top of his pants to try and relieve the uncomfortable sensation.

"I think you know exactly what I want." There was a sneer on his features, but Pete was too ashamed to look him in the face.

"You're a horrible person." The younger of the two choked out, and a snicker was heard from Gary's place in the room.

"You're no better than I am, and you know it." Gary had rounded the chair, wrapping his hands around the slim torso before him, one brushing taunting fingers over the hem of his shirt, the other holding him firmly in place.

Gary's front pressed against the back of the chair, having dropped to his knees, and he licked up the side of Pete's neck. The other male jerked against the arms that restrained him, managing to stoop forward enough to prevent that wonderful tongue from coming in contact with the sensitive flesh.

"You don't have much to bargain with, you know…" Gary purred huskily into his ear, having yanked him backwards roughly.

"I guess I don't. I could tell on you…" The air was ripped from his lungs and he was propelled to the messy floor, head spinning from the suddenness of the cruelty.

Gary had shoved the chair over, Pete landing on his front and struggling onto his back. His eyes were glossed over with fear, and Gary was glaring down at him with a dangerous expression. He stood, stepping over the other male, feet on either side of his shivering torso, and stepped onto his chest. The pressure made Pete's hands shoot out from his sides, trying to push the weight off of his body, which was struggling for air.

"Don't threaten me! You have no idea what I could do to you!" It started out as a bitter shout, but calmed to an icy sureness that made him even more terrifying.

After another moment of panic, Gary let Peter breathe, and he rolled onto his side between the sadist's legs, coughing and wheezing air back into his lungs. When he had recovered, he inched his way backwards, out of the other male's grasp, slowly. He was careful not to move too quickly, but Gary had knelt, trapping him at the waist between his knees.

"I'm sorry, it won't happen again. I'll keep my mouth shut, I promise. I would never betray you like that, you know I-"

"Oh, shut up." Gary interrupted the dainty male's desperate rambling, eyes wild with rage and lust.

Pete's stomach was twisting with dread. He had pissed his enemy off, had actually made him angry, and whatever kind of torture forming in his head would neither be pleasant nor tolerable. He cursed himself for his stupidity, lifting himself onto his forearms, still trying to wiggle away. If he could just make it to the door, it would be alright. He would come back with a proper apology, when Gary wasn't quite so angry.

Gary had shifted himself lower, straddling the other teen's thighs, yanking his shirt upwards roughly. The cold air in Gary's room hit his skin, and his body was wracked with another fit of shivers. There were teeth on his chest in seconds; Peter hissing with the pain, hating that the bite sent a signal right to his groin.

"I'm sorry!" The younger male managed again, resulting in another, more painful bite, this one near his ribcage.

With horror, Peter realized he was going lower, and not once had his tongue met the abused skin. He was struggling more forcefully against the older male, wiggling backwards on the carpet and tugging at brown hair. He was not going to let Gary go any further, he refused to let him, but Peter wasn't exactly strong when it came to denial.

"Please, Gary, please stop…" He tried his best to sound shattered, finding that it wasn't all that difficult, not when the other teen had broken the skin with his teeth.

"You're hurting me…" His tone was ragged and desperate, then there were rough lips against his.

A kiss was better than the delicious pain that was pulsating on Pete's front, and he didn't want to make Gary any angrier than he already was, so he opened his mouth and let the prodding tongue invade the wet cavern. Immediately, he grunted unhappily and pulled backwards, the taste of blood flooding his senses. There was a callused hand on the top of his head, holding him there with a vice grip, and no amount of thrashing would make the taste leave.

When Gary pulled back, Pete made a vicious face, but the older male was attacking the open wound again. There was a line of nasty-looking marks down his front, ending with the bleeding gash that Gary was invading with his tongue. Pete pulled at his hair again, exclaiming with every dart of the wiggling muscle.

"God damn it, stop!" Pete almost shouted, and Gary sat up, wiping crimson from the corner of his mouth.

"Gee, I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were calling the shots." Gary's hands were rough on the button to Pete's pants, slipping into the fabric and stroking his arousal.

There was the ghosting of nails along the length, and pain stung, white hot, along Peter's torso. His head was spinning, splotches of color behind his eyelids, hips bucking upwards. The coarse, calloused hand was driving the younger male mad, squirming away from the pain but into the pleasure. The sensations melted together, and he was gasping for dear life, biting his bottom lip to try and keep Gary from knowing. Just a little bit longer, a few more strokes, it would be over, but the tight heat was gone.

"Leave. Now."

"Wh-what?" Pete managed his eyes open, staring up at the cold expression on Gary's face.

"Get out before I throw you out."

Immediately, Peter stood on rubber legs, adjusting his clothing and shuffling to the door. Gary had moved to his bed, laying on it nonchalantly, as though nothing had happened. Sensing that the dainty male was still there, the sadist twisted his neck awkwardly, looking up and backwards at the shivering teen. There was an annoyed look on his damaged face, and Pete left, slamming the door behind him.

He went to his room, closing the door and groaning against the bitter pain, both from the constriction in his pants and the thumping wound. His hand, without even undoing the button or zipper, rubbed until he lost his footing and slumped against the wall, groaning raggedly into the empty room. After a moment of recovery, he tore his clothing off, not even bothering to toss it into his hamper.

He searched with panicked fingers through the first aid kit hidden under his bed, looking for cleaning supplies but coming up short. He had been beaten to a bloody pulp a few times that year, and had run out of hydrogen peroxide, his rubbing alcohol since stolen when he was cleaning a scraped knee. Whimpering and holding back tears, he rested his forehead on the mattress before him. At least he had a Band-Aid big enough to prevent bleeding onto another one of his shirts, but he would have to visit the nurse.

Dressing in pajamas, he worked his way to the nurse's office, managing to make it through the door just as she was getting ready to leave. The tired-looking woman scowled and rolled her eyes at the shivering teen, who closed the door softly behind him.

"What is it you need, hm?" She spoke in her acid-washed voice, and he looked out of the doorway with nervous tension.

"Do you have any rubbing alcohol to spare?" The dainty male tried, and she stood straighter, hands on her hips.

"I'm not allowed to give out rubbing alcohol. What is it you need cleaned?"

_No._ If she saw the wound, she would see the bruises, evidence of his secret. He also didn't want to have the thing infected, which would result in more discomfort. He was torn, standing with a gaping mouth and staring wide-eyed at the nurse. She only seemed annoyed at his presence, continuing to pack things into her purse.

"If you don't have an injury for me to clean, go on your way."


	8. Apologies

Apologies

[A/N: Eight chapters in… I hate that number. It has habit of shooting my muses in the forehead. POP! No more inspiration. I was thinking of just naming it "chapter 9" instead, but it would still be number eight.

On another note, I wrote this while listening to Radiohead's Myxomatosis. Then I stopped for a while, put on Looey – Don't Fear the Reaper, and completed the entire thing~! Petey has gotten some confidence, and Gary is bad at holding grudges. But honestly, who can hold a grudge against lil' Pete?

Classes have started again, so I might be a bit busy, but I'll try to work in a chapter every week or so.]

Peter had been having trouble in his mind lately. The constant battles; fighting with memories and visions that seemed to pop up at the worst times, worrying about his options, which seemed to be slipping through his fingers. Worrying. His parents told him he worried too much. They were probably right, he was always analyzing alternatives, considering his next move, overthinking.

Gary didn't seem to have that problem, and it was infuriating. He had a manic desire to win, while Pete was struggling to get by. They were both meticulous and plotting, but in entirely different ways. The thought brought visions of a chess game, Gary knocking all of the pieces from the board in a rage, Pete letting him and forfeiting. The image made something tingle in his stomach, and he scowled at the nurse before him, who looked slightly offended.

The teen's expression softened and he glanced at the floor apologetically. _A doormat, as always._ He weighed what he needed to do in his head again and sighed, defeated. Perhaps, if he made her promise not to tell, he would agree. Like flipping a coin; the outcome wouldn't really be his decision.

"Can you keep a secret?" The dainty male's voice was smaller than he had first meant it to be.

"Yeah, why not?" Of course, they both knew that she was bound by law to tell if there was suspicion of harm, but she agreed.

Slowly, cautiously, Pete pulled his shirt high enough to reveal the bandage which had practically been soaked through. The nurse turned to the cabinets that were locked, pulling out an off-white bottle, and turned towards him again. He pulled the bandage away tenderly, hissing when it tugged at the injury, and let her examine it more closely.

The woman's face went from dutiful apathy to quiet curiosity, but she poured a drizzle of rubbing alcohol onto a cotton ball in her hand wordlessly. Pete tensed every muscle in his body, clenched his teeth, and closed his eyes tightly shut. The pain made white spots on the inside of his eyelids flicker to life and a guttural groan escaped his clamped teeth, but it was refreshing in a strange way.

As she applied a topical ointment, the pain began melting away, and by the time gauze and medical tape had been attached, only a faint sting remained. She shuffled to the sink and stripped the gloves she had on, tossing them in the trash. Pete realized he hadn't seen her put them on, but that was the least of his problems, as the woman motioned for him to sit.

"If you are being abused, you can tell me."

A ragged, strained laugh escaped his lips and he stared intently at the floor. He could never admit to it, but didn't have the heart to outright deny it. The battle in his psyche was raging again, part of him screaming for him to tell the woman all of the gruesome details, another whispering that it wasn't abuse at all. Whatever it was, it was unhealthy, and needed to stop. That was the only thing his mind had agreed on in a very long time, yet when he repeated it in his head, a different voice chimed in, reminding him of his desire.

Lust was going to be the end of him. Standing and shaking his head, the dainty male left the woman, who was being uncharacteristically kind, to continue gathering her things. She noted his odd behavior, and told herself that she would keep a close eye on the struggling teen, who was trotting down the hallway and out of the door with rushed ferocity. He hoped that he would be able to sleep, but something told him that he would have no such luck.

He was walking towards his room when he passed the door he had slammed earlier. Unconsciously, his hand went to the bandage near his ribcage and his face soured with rage. Every nerve in his body was screaming for retribution, and though it conflicted with all of his logical thought, he opened the door briskly.

The doorknob hit the wall with a loud bang, and he strode in with ferocity in his pale face. He let the door swing mostly closed, yanking at it until he heard the click. Gary was just where he had left him, flipping through a magazine that the other male didn't care to examine. The sadist sighed with exasperation, swinging his legs over the side of his bed and folding his hands over his lap.

Peter suddenly realized the ridiculousness of his position, dressed in pajamas that were far too big for him, hanging off of his dainty form in an effeminate way. He stood his ground before the stooped brunette, chin lifted and eyes threatening.

"I want an apology." He snapped before Gary could get out the witty remark he had undoubtedly prepared.

"I'm sorry you're such a faggot." Gary was grinning, proud of himself, but the anger was gone from his enticing eyes.

"Be serious, Gary. Genuine."

The older male sighed and leaned back on his palms, resting his weight on the mattress. His damaged head was tilted to the side, and Peter couldn't help but notice a prominent mark on his neck, discolored scarring among oddly soft flesh. He stepped closer; standing between Gary's parted knees, lifting a timid hand to his throat. The sadist's eyes snapped wider when he caressed the mark, remembering how he had reacted when they were touched the night before Halloween.

When Peter let his front fall against Gary's and dragged his finger along the jagged shape that dipped into his shirt, the older male let out a raspy breath, eyelids fluttering closed. He took his other hand, gaining confidence at the lurid reactions, and trailed it along the scar on the other teen's forehead. This got him another lovely sounding breath; his scars must have been sensitive.

"What happened to you?" The question slipped past Peter's lips before he registered the thought, and Gary's eyes opened so that he could glare up at him.

"You're a fucking buzz-kill, you know that?" Calloused hands were wrapped around the other male's waist, pulling him closer and pressing the tip of his nose into Pete's throat gently.

The younger teen, regardless of the abuse he always seemed to suffer at those desperate, clinging hands, brushed a strand of brown hair that had fallen over the damaged skin. This made Gary huff into his shirt, so he pried backwards a bit, hands firmly on Gary's shoulders. He stooped a bit lower, flicking his tongue out to meet the scar on the taller teen's neck, resulting in a choked moan.

Pete hadn't expected for him to be so vocal with such little stimulation, and pressed against him again, feeling the other male's arousal against his stomach. It sent a wave of thrill through him, knowing that he had pleased him so easily, and he shoved him onto his back. The younger of the two crawled so that he was straddling those slender hips and ground down on him, biting onto the scar and making Gary grunt.

Gary's hands had found Pete's hips, shoving him onto him roughly, trailing another hand up the bruised and battered torso. Peter murmured against the mark he was worshiping with his mouth whenever the older teen touched one of his blemishes, but it was gentle and fleeting, making him press against the familiar warmth. His own fingers tugged at the other male's shirt, and Gary let him yank it impatiently over his head, gasping gently as he ground and eyed the torso before him. He explored the expanse dotted with marks, paying close attention to exactly what gave him the best reaction.

There was one straight mark just below his ribcage that made Gary hiss, and Pete left his neck to run his tongue over it. He had slipped from the bed, ignoring the throbbing need between his thighs if only to listen to Gary whimper at every flick of his tongue. There was a hand on his shoulder, pressing Peter's chest against the arousal, and the dainty male shot up, straddling his lap again.

"Apologize." The younger male demanded, hovering above the heat he wanting to bare down on so badly.

"Fuck you." Gary snapped back, fire in his eyes, but his hands hadn't moved from where they were laying limp at his sides.

"In a minute, but you _will_ say sorry first." It was as though Gary was playing with him, or perhaps he was enjoying the little bit of power that Peter was holding over him.

Pete took Gary's hand and lapped luridly at his fingers. His unused hand was caressing the mark under Gary's ribcage, and there was a pained expression on the older teen's face. He whined unhappily and pushed his fingers further into Pete's mouth, the dainty male sucking and digging his nails into the fading scar.

"Alright, Jesus, I'm sorry!" Gary finally caved, but there was a playful glint in his eye.

He flipped both of them over, grinding against Peter roughly, both of the males grunting at the contact. Gary tugged at Peter's pants with the hand that wasn't being sucked on, a tongue dancing over the skin with more experience than was appropriate. When the soft blue pajamas had been wrenched low enough, Gary removed the saliva-sickened fingers and pressed one at the dainty male's entrance.

Pete eyed him, confused, but a labored sigh escaped his lips when a finger was shoved into him, prodding along the walls. The other finger joined its companion, and Gary was exploring Pete's insides. The other boy's nails dug into the sadist's shoulders, mostly because of the strange feeling, totally void of pain. Gary pressed deeply and dragged his hand back, finding the spongy-feeling bundle of nerves that made Pete mewl with need.

His arms wrapped around Gary's neck and yanked him close, Gary taking it as an invitation to go forward. His hand pulled back, then shoved forward brutally, smashing against Peter's prostate before he dragged his nails along the pulsating thing. Peter's vision went out for a moment and he pressed against the intrusion with fervor, gasping desperately for air.

"Hah! Gary- d-do that again." He was a blubbering mess in moments, never having been stimulated the way he was then, feeling as though he would literally melt into the bed.

"You're pitiful." Gary replied huskily, thrusting his hand forward again and fumbling blindly with the button of his own pants.

He had been ignored before, too angry to feel much, too focused on hurting the dainty male to let euphoria take him over. He was through with his anger, though; worrying over it was a waste of time, especially when Pete had crawled back to him and was writhing at his fingertips.

Gary's hand was removed, and Pete's eyes snapped open, frantic. There was the hint of fear behind the annoyed glare the younger male gave the sadist, but Gary was tugging at his thigh with one hand and holding himself with the other. A whimper escaped Pete's lips when the painful pressure returned, and Gary let out a ragged breath, thrusting in roughly and stirring his hips.

Pete wrapped his legs around the squirming teen, tugging him deeper and arching his back to allow a better angle. When Gary thrust again, it was Rapture, and the dainty male gasped breathily. The other male, tired of the tediousness, sped up his motions, pounding into him maliciously. Pete was pushing back against him, every thrust hitting his prostate with dizzying force, and he was clawing down the other male's front.

The nails left white lines, tinted with little droplets of blood, but Pete was too enthralled to notice his little victory. His head was empty, so wonderfully quiet, nothing but the hum of "_more"_ and _"faster_" echoing in his psyche. His body was twitching, tightening around the scarred boy, and he climaxed with clawed fingers digging into Gary's shoulders.

The other male pressed into him a few more times, falling so that their torsos rubbed together, and dug his own nails into Peter's hips. Little red spots joined the bruises there, his teeth closing in on a pale neck, muffling the animalistic noise that had been welling up in his throat.

They were lying like that for a while, labored breathing the only noise in the frigid room, followed by a contented sigh as Gary rolled off of him. They glanced at each other, feeling a seldom-experienced kind of equality. For once, Pete didn't hate that he had been dragged into another pointless fuck, and Gary didn't see the boy next to him as an object.

"If Hell exists…" Peter started breathily, unable to muster the energy to finish his half-hearted insult.

"I'll save you a seat."


	9. Ants

Ants

[A/N: I got over the eight chapter thing~! I was listening to Polly by Nirvana when I wrote the dream. That's one disturbing song…

All of the abuse is speculated, and if there is any canon information that I got wrong, don't be afraid to correct me. There's no smut in this one, just little bits and pieces of fluff. Poor Gary…]

"This one?" Gary asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah." Pete replied with a genuinely interested voice.

They were lying on Gary's bed, one of the sadist's arms under Pete's neck, holding him close. Peter had his hand grasped gently, turning it to admire some of the scars dotted on the abused flesh, running his fingers over the tender skin. Gary let him, relishing the balminess that he emitted. Peter was like a space heater, much warmer than he should have been, especially naked in the winter chill of Gary's room.

"Mom was on a crank binge, and dad hadn't been home for a while, so I raided the kitchen looking for food. When the old man came back to a destroyed kitchen, he put out his cigarette on my arm." Gary spoke with a solemn tone, flexing his fingers and lifting his arm to admire the nasty-looking bubble of scar tissue on his wrist.

"And what about this one?" Pete traced a healed gash down the side of his arm.

"That's a battle wound. Guy had a knife. Cheap shot, if you ask me." Gary had a smirk on his lips, and Pete looked up at him, innocence on his pale face.

"You've inflicted all of my scars." Pete joked, releasing the hand he had been admiring and curling into the older teen.

"That's not true. What about that one on your knee?" Pete scoffed and nuzzled into Gary's bare chest.

Peter couldn't help that he loved the contact. There was hardly any sting in his slowly healing wound, and he was wrapped in warm comfort. Gary was there, all his, brushing his hand over the dainty male's shoulder with tenderness he hardly ever displayed. Pete ran his hand over the expanse of tanned skin before him, ghosting light touches on scars.

"This one…?" The dainty male traced the mark under Gary's ribcage, one that had gotten him the best reaction not an hour before.

"That was my mom. Crazy bitch stabbed me with a mirror I had broken. Told me I had to learn not to be clumsy." He chuckled half-heartedly, finding goose bumps tingling on his extremities.

He pulled the blanket over the both of them and Pete sighed contentedly. Gary stared at the ceiling, blinking slowly and letting an exhale carry away the last bit of tension in his body. Peter could feel the muscles under his touch relax and let himself lapse into a state between sleep and lucidity. He knew it was probably unwise to fall asleep yet again in the sadist's clutches, but he couldn't help how safe he felt, lying next to him. Gary was different in these fleeting moments, too tired to be cruel, too caring to be frightening, but as soon as he had a little bit of rest, he was back to his vicious ways.

Still, Pete found himself dozing off to the rise and fall of his companion's chest, listening to the gentle whistle of wind squirming its way through the window, the heat of closeness trapped by the blankets unbelievably comforting. They were both asleep in moments, pulses an identical slow.

Gary was dreaming. He didn't have much time for REM sleep, catching just minutes of rest a night, if even that. When he slept next to Pete, though, it was different. He was calmer than he usually was in the restlessness of light's out, too tired to plot. He was always immediately thrown into his subconscious, which was a scary place, even for him.

It started out with a picnic. He wasn't with anybody, just a basket and a meal and a blanket under an apple tree. The weather was lovely, with clouds dotting a deep blue sky, the sun shimmering on the emerald hills that grasped endlessly into the horizon. Gary reached for one of the sandwiches that looked as though it had been set out for him, and it dissolved into ants at his touch.

Soon, all of the food was nothing but wiggling black, billowing out of the basket by the thousands, Gary scurrying away from the mass of insects. They were on his feet, pulling him back to them with uniform motions, and they chewed up his legs, the limbs melting into black. Desperate hands batted the things away, now forming massive fingers of constant motion, touching his stomach, eating him alive.

When he hit the insects, they clamped onto his hands and chewed on the ends of his fingertips. He tried his best to shake them off, but the effort was in vain, and he was neck-deep, screaming as they flooded into every orifice they could get to. He was suffocating in the dark, unable to feel anything but insects nipping at him, wiggling in his throat and ear canals and nostrils.

He sat up abruptly, eyes wide with panic, coughing into the cold room. He looked at his hands, wiggled his toes, touched his face and let himself fall back into a calmer state. There was a hand on his shoulder, and he jerked away from the contact, growling with animal ferocity.

"Hey, it's okay." A soft voice chimed in, and a little bit of frightened tension left Gary's overwrought shoulders when he realized who it was.

The brunette turned and wrapped his arms around the warm form before him, burying his face in the nape of Peter's neck. Pete, too shocked to reply, gently patted the sadist's back, holding and rocking him softly. He had expected for him to force him away again, to kick him out of his room to do God-know's-what with his alone time, but instead, Gary was looking for _comfort_.

Pete brushed one of his hands through dark hair, shushing him and looking down at the pitiful version of Gary he never imagined he would see. They rocked for a while until the occasional sob that left Gary's mouth subsided and he pulled away. Pete, who was sitting on his heels, tilted his head and smiled weakly, brushing a tear Gary wasn't strong enough to hide from his damaged face.

"You wanna talk about it?" Pete asked, mainly to break the tense silence.

Gary only plopped onto his side again and tugged the other male to him, nuzzling the back of his neck and breathing in the floral smell he always seemed to have. Pete yelped quietly, laying still, as though he was in the grasp of a predator, then pulled the blanket back over them both. It took the dainty male a while to fall back to sleep, but Gary fell into oblivion almost immediately, comforted by the form before him, someone with no malicious intent whatsoever. He dreamt, only it was pleasant, and they slept through the night.


	10. Pack Mentality

Pack Mentality

[A/N: Into the double digits already? You guys, so convincing… This was supposed to be a oneshot, you know. Tsk, tsk.

Gary gets beat up, and Peter makes it _all better._ Only not really… I think Gary has been a bit too nice recently, so here he is, being anything but.]

Gary tried to decipher, but he didn't quite speak idiot-with-a-speech-impediment. Standing with his arms crossed over his chest, he stared up at the incoherent rambler before him, one eyebrow raised with annoyance. Pete had been walking not far behind him, Gary expressing his excitement about something he just _had _to see. Even though the dainty male had a suspicion that it was a corpse of some kind, he had allowed the taller teen to drag him out into the winter cold and some bit of trouble at the hands of the bullies. Ever since Halloween, they had mostly stayed away from the sadist, seeing as he still held so much power among the other cliques, but Russell and two other unwise brutes decided they would try to beat money out of him.

Pete was hardly a fighter. Sure, he could take a beating, but he was a doormat, built to be stomped on. They both knew that he would be useless in a confrontation, but there was a grin on the sadist's lips, and he seemed hardly worried, even with three much larger boys barreling towards him. Peter turned around immediately, shuffling into the unused school bus and hiding.

Gary dodged the first blow easily, stepping to the side and smirking at the way his attacker stumbled to the ground in a pitiful heap, but he was distracted by the little victory. There was a massive fist in his gut and he keeled over, coughing pitifully into the air, Pete poking his head out from his hiding spot. He watched as the two other males grabbed his arms, the largest of the three hitting his torso over and over again, ending the relentless attack with a blow to Gary's jaw.

They left him, crumpled on the ground and spitting out bloodied saliva, to wheeze away his pain. Immediately, Pete rushed to his side and lifted him into a standing position, utterly horrified. Gary wrapped one of his arms around his companion's shoulders, letting him support most of his weight as they staggered their way back to the dorms. Pete didn't have the heart to look at the sadist's face, hating the very thought of him in pain.

It was unfair, Peter mused, that Gary could relish his agony, but he was tormented by the very idea of injury. When they were finally in the dorm, the dainty male dragging the taller male who he knew wasn't quite as hurt as he was making himself out to be, Gary locked his legs and stopped them both. They were just outside Peter's room, the sadist nodding at it expectantly with an exaggerated pout on his lips. Pete rolled his eyes and carried his tormenter into his room, tossing him unceremoniously onto the bed. He closed the door behind him and stood before the battered teen, hands on his hips.

"What?" Gary asked, shuffling himself into a more comfortable position and groaning with discomfort.

"Take your shirt off-"

"I know you're eager, but-"

"So I can examine the damage." Peter didn't care to hide his frustration, crossing his arms defensively.

"Yes, mother." The older of the two huffed, tugging his uniform over his head and flexing his muscles with a childish air.

"Like that, Petey?" The dainty male scowled, gently gracing his hand over the damaged area.

He left feathery touches along Gary's ribcage, checking to see if any of them were out of place, then moved onto the other side. They all seemed intact, but there could always be some more severe damage under the skin. He pressed his oddly skilled hands into the divot under the ribcage he had inspected, and Gary growled low in his throat.

"Quit being a wuss." Pete sounded strong and sure, so Gary huffed and leaned back on the bed.

Pale fingers pushed into the tensing muscle, feeling for abnormalities that he would have immediately been able to point out on his own torso. It was different with the taut scar tissue, some of which had melded in with the muscle, making him pause and go over that spot again. All the while, Gary was grunting and huffing and growling with a threatening air, totally ignored by the male who scrutinized him.

"Alright, all done. Seems fine to m-" Pete was tugged from where he had been kneeling to have Gary's lips collide with his own.

There was a calloused hand on his chin and he yelped with surprise, rough fingers prying his jaw open. When Gary succeeded in opening the mouth he was wiggling his tongue against, the wet muscle slipped in and Pete's tension melted. His nails dug into his companion's thighs, resting between them on the floor, reaching up to deepen the aggressive kiss. He was reminded of his "punishment" when he tasted salty copper from a busted lip and bitten tongue, whimpering gently at the unpleasant taste.

"What? Not squeamish, are you? I've seen you swallow worse." Gary had paused to stare with intimidating eyes at the flush that fell over Peter's features.

"N-no, I just-"

"Shut up and take it, then." Gary snapped playfully, returning to the heated kiss, one hand on the small of the younger male's back.

Pete arched closer to his bed, front flush against the mattress, knees stinging with the pressure of the floor. Even though it tasted terrible, he sucked on the tongue that wiggled in his mouth, managing a groan from the sadist before him. His hand snaked between Gary's thighs, brushing against him to see if he was aroused. To his surprise, he wasn't, so he rolled his fingers against him and relished the little noises.

"You're such a slut." Gary said breathlessly, staring with half-lidded eyes down at the teen between his legs, who seemed much more open than he had before.

"Shut up." Peter silently wished he could think of some kind of banter to challenge the male who sat before him, resting his chin on the bed before the growing arousal.

"What on Earth is going on?"

Pete's face snapped upwards, staring at Gary, who most definitely didn't sound quite as small as the noise behind them. He was shoved roughly to the floor, scrambling into a sitting position as Gary stomped to the now-open doorway. The stranger was yanked into the room and shoved roughly against the wall, spiteful fingers caught in his shirt. It was Thad, the skinny, frail nerd that stalked the dorm hallway more often than was appropriate, usually searching for something to tattle about.

"Why can't rats mind their own business?" Gary hissed with a rage that Pete hadn't really seen before.

"Gary, stop, Thad won't talk. Will you?" The trapped boy shook his head so quickly he became dizzy.

"I don't trust him. Maybe I should throw you to the greasers?" The first part, directed at Peter, had an almost silky quality, the second nothing but thorns.

"Dammit, Gary! Don't hurt him, please."

"I have to. As a warning. I need to assert-"

"You hurt him, I'm gone." Peter prayed that his threat would keep the sadist from acting out what he genuinely believed he needed to do.

"Oh, really?"

The older male had the nerd in a vice-grip, fingers wrapped around his throat, lifting him off the ground. His eyes, which were icy-cold as they stabbed into the dainty male, looked him up-and-down. Pete had nothing to bargain with; if he tried to stop the sex, Gary would take it anyways, if he tried to stop the small bit of companionship they had created, it was simply one less thing for Gary to worry about.

"Don't act for a second like I don't own you." Pete stood strong regardless of the stinging words.

"You don't. I'm my own –" The back of Gary's hand landed on Peter's cheek with enough force knock him from his equilibrium.

The younger male sidestepped but lost his balance, immediately standing again when the sadist turned his attentions to the shivering male in his clutches. Pete held his face, hot from the impact, using his other hand to wrap around Gary's wrist. He tugged, but to no avail, the nerd gasping noiselessly as he was strangled.

Tears stung at Pete's eyes, and he bit onto the arm before him, Gary exclaiming angrily and letting his prey escape. He had incurred Gary's full wrath, and he cowered away from the intense, insanity-filled glare that the sadist threw him. He became bigger than he was out of some strange miracle, Pete finding that he had been backed into the wall of his bedroom, so far away from his only exit.

"I'm tired of playing games, you disgusting excuse for a human being." His sneer was like sharp ice, his words even more jagged.

"Seems I haven't done a very good job training you, have I, dog?" Peter was afraid, then, blood pounding in a very unhappy way through his veins, regretting every missed opportunity for admitting to the adults that worried about him.

"I'm sorry…" The younger male tried, knowing that the apology was in vain, enfolding his arms around his torso to try and prevent any serious damage to his midsection.

Gary wrapped his large hand around Peter's head, close enough for him to feel hot breath ghosting over his lips. Pete whimpered, wondering what the sadist was thinking, horrified by the utter chill even his skin held. There was a moment of deliberation, everything falling dreadfully still, then a low chuckle.

Peter's world was wrenched from its previously upright position, and his forehead landed on his tormentor's knee. Toppling to the floor, the battered hermit groaned into the dirty carpet, trying to curl into himself. There were spitefully tight fingers wrapped around his upper arm, and he was yanked into a standing position, still reeling from the previous blow.

"Now, Petey, I can't fight someone on the ground. That's immoral." He patted the smaller male's cheek, and when he found his bearing in the spinning room, there was sharp pain in his gut.

Pete curled around the fist, the breath knocked out of his lungs with the blow, staggering just to stay upright. Gary had his chin in his grasp, lifting him straighter and glaring into his eyes, which were downcast with his usual submission. He grinned, dragging his newest victim into the hall by the throat, ignoring that fact that he was shirtless, bruises beginning to purple on his tanned skin.

"Look at him, everybody! Too pitiful to walk on his own." Gary opened the front doors and shoved the staggering male down the stairs and into the dirt, leaning against the doorway to watch as people gaped and laughed.

There was a moment of calm, a circle forming around the dainty male as Gary approached, obviously ready to beat him down. Because Pete was desperate to get away, get anywhere, he struggled to his feet, only to have his footing knocked away from him by the spiteful teen behind him.

"No, you stay and fight me." Gary almost purred, with his smooth voice, so calm and sweet and terrifying.

Pete backed away in the dirt, finally able to breathe, and got to his feet. Perhaps he could slip through the crowd, but when he admired the gawking children he realized exactly how tightly-knit they were and that he would be shoved back into the predator's grasp again. It dawned to him that his only option was to fight Gary, try his best to challenge him.

He stood shakily, said a prayer that he knew wouldn't be received, and lifted his fists in front of his face. Gary looked genuinely impressed, extending his arms with the arrogant offering that told everybody how little a threat the dainty male actually was, and Pete lunged. He was aiming for his midsection, hoping to catch one of the tender bruises, but his hand met nothing but air. He almost stumbled into the crowd, turning and eying the smirk on Gary's face with something between hatred and disbelief.

"Now it's _my_ turn." The sadist said, amusement hinted in his tone.

He was faster than Pete could track, stooped so that his shoulder came in contact with his still-tender stomach, tackling him to the hard ground. He straddled one thigh, landing his fist on the smaller male's cheekbone, then another to his side, along the ribcage. Pete would have screamed had the air not been knocked out of him again, so he gasped pitifully, flailing under his tormentor. Gary stood, kicked dirt into his face, and returned to his own room.


	11. It was the Stairs

It was the Stairs

[A/N: Angst! Boo-fuckin'-hoo, Pete! Drink some apple juice and get over it. Jeez…

I don't know what's up with the shower situation. Jimmy doesn't shower once in the entire game [he must be mighty stinky], and I doubt everybody is forced to use the gym showers, so I figure there's an itty-bitty personal restroom, y'know, New York apartment-style, only without the stove. Correct me if I'm wrong.

What happened to the cannon universe? My muse ate it. She's put on a considerable amount of weight, that imaginary gal. Of course, there's really nothing that directly clashes with the game, but… I haven't exactly stuck to it, which is practically against my religion. Forgive me, oh Lord of the Smutfic, for I have sinned. I bet if I went to a confessional with that, the priest would just straight-up leave.]

It felt like forever before Pete found the strength to move. It hurt to even breathe, let alone cough the dirt out of his lungs, so he wheezed weakly against the ground. His arms were shaky as he slowly pushed himself into a kneeling position, legs just as weak as he dragged himself up the stairs. He had to lean against the door to the dorms before he found the courage to tediously pry it open. Moving sluggishly, careful not to make the pain in his side any worse with sudden motions, he slipped unnoticed into his room. Everything had been torn apart, clothing yanked out of the drawers, the desk knocked over. He didn't really seem to notice, hissing as he pulled the blanket from his bed and slipped into the comforting warmth.

He stared at the closed door, tears stinging at his eyes again, but refused to let them fall. It was pain, pain was all in the mind, pain would pass. It hurt so badly, though; not just the ribs he assumed were bruised or the swelling mark on the side of his face, but the sting in his chest cavity that he so rarely let himself feel.

He bit his lip to let the physical ache distract him, but it was to no avail, and he was unsuccessful in holding back a broken sob. The noise almost startled him, and he flinched suddenly, sucking in air loudly with the pain of motion. He thought about Gary, down the hall, probably totally void of any guilt in the matter, playing his handheld or scratching plans into a notebook. He wouldn't hurt like Pete did, he wasn't capable of feeling such a sane reaction. Perhaps that was what had drawn Pete to Gary in the first place. After all, opposites _did_ attract.

His face became stoic and he stared with a bland kind of acceptance into nothing. There was thick silence, hanging in the room like smoke, making it difficult to breathe for the dainty male. Suddenly, his eyes shot to the door, where the handle rattled, and Pete's heart rate sped up immensely.

There was a frail form standing in the illuminated doorway, too small to be Gary, having the same apologetic air that everybody at the bottom of the Bullworth food chain emanated. He looked too and fro, as though searching for something, face hidden by the off-white glare behind him.

"Thanks. You probably saved my life earlier." The tone was spoken with a slight lisp, Pete registering that it was Thad.

"Your secret is safe with me." He said before leaving, and for some strange reason, there was a massive weight lifted from the dainty male's chest, letting out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

The door clicked gently closed behind the nerd, leaving Pete in a much less tense silence, and he managed to doze into warm oblivion. He woke to his alarm clock, snapping his eyes open with the realization that he had slept for such a long time, body still unbelievably exhausted. He tossed the blankets away from his battered form, standing with a pained groan and slipping into the shower.

The dainty male stopped to let the frigid water warm as it sputtered out of the showerhead, staring at himself in the mirror. There was a very large, blue-and-greenish bruise on the side of his face. After he stripped, he noticed the swelling in his side, an even less appealing color than his face. Sighing as much as his injured ribcage would allow him, he scrubbed away dirt and tears and blood, then dressed.

Pete went to Art class earlier than he had to be there, skipping whatever terrible breakfast that had been set out for the other children due to nausea. The teacher, who hadn't bothered to do anything with her hair that morning, stared blankly at her desk, as exhausted as every other employee at the terrible school.

"Good morning- Gracious, what happened?!" Ms. Philips had started off with a small, sleepy voice, but was wrenched immediately into panic by the painful-looking mark on the dainty male's face.

"That bad?" Pete replied with a weak laugh, grunting and holding his side with the painful motion but sliding back into his mildly-cheerful façade almost immediately.

"It looks worse than it is."

"Who…?"

"I fell down some stairs." That was at least half-true.

"Into someone's fist? Mr. Kowalski, I'm not an idiot."

"Honestly, the ones outside the boy's dorm." Another laugh, this one much more labored.

"Was it Russell? I hear he can be troublesome."

"No. It was the stairs." He was stubbornly sticking to his story.

Ms. Phillips stared at him for a while; mouth opened just a bit, then shook her head and huffed. She returned to the papers she was grading, Pete shuffling to his desk. He didn't understand any of it. Gary had quite literally beaten him into submission, and he was protecting him from one of the only people in the world that cared. There must have been something seriously wrong with him.

After classes were over, Pete immediately went to his room, ignoring his pain because he yearned for sleep. He didn't hesitate to change into his winter pajamas, so drenched in painfully wonderful memories that he could barely stand the sight of them. He was tense for a while, slowly slipping into the dreamless sleep he had experienced the night before after what seemed like hours of deliberation. He was awake when there was a hand over his mouth and nose, refusing him access to air.

"I'm here to apologize."

Pete furrowed his eyebrows angrily, flailing as much as he could with the sadist straddling his stomach. Every jerk was agony, and the hand over his face tightened as he continued to move. There were cold eyes staring down at him, dreadfully demanding, and because his peripheral was turning white and his lungs were stinging, he slackened. The hand was removed the moment Pete stopped struggling.

"I hate these pajamas. Have I told you that before? They make you look like a toddler." He sounded so nonchalant, like nothing had even happened.

Pete was wiggling away from his attacker, into the bed under him, trying to melt into the fabric. He hated that Gary smelled so wonderful, that he couldn't help the disgusting feelings welling up in his gut. Gary had a direct link to the animal part of Pete's brain. He was hungry, hating that he couldn't help it, that Gary would get what he wanted because the dainty male was incapable of denying him.

Gary leaned down so that his face was inches away from the smaller male's, features unreadable. Pete shrank back more, looking at the wall to try and hide the blush on his pale face. There was very little light in his room, the sun having since set, and Pete was somewhat restless after all of the extra sleep he managed over the last few days, especially since his body was used to insomnia.

"Listen here, worm…" Gary purred into the ear that was exposed to him, hot breath ghosting over the dainty male's bruise.

Pete wasn't having it. His arms shot out from his sides and he landed a well-aimed - if weak - punch to Gary's jaw. The older teen's face turned and he stayed in that position for a while. The dainty male could feel Gary's thighs tense around the tender flesh of his sides, the muscles becoming stiff with rage. With one quick, fluid motion, Peter's arms were pinned above his head, the teen arching his back and squirming unhappily. He turned his head so that he was staring directly at the male above him, practically snarling.

"_You are my property._" The older of the two finished, shuffling downwards on the bed so that his pelvis was hovering over Pete's.

His mouth ghosted along the smaller teen's jaw, down to his neck, goose bumps growing on Pete's skin as he let out a hot breath. His teeth were so close, fleeting touches of lips tainting the dainty male's reality, then he bit down. Peter groaned in a way that sounded much too pleased at the sudden pain, coupled with warm wetness he couldn't help but love. He was struggling against the one hand that held him down, tugging with panicked futility.

Gary sucked on the battered skin, his front almost pressed against the boy under him, Peter squirming and breathing heavily. His hips pressed down, friction through fabric making the dainty male whimper, trying his best to maintain his composure. The sadist felt the sound vibrate against his tongue, pressing again more forcefully.

"This is exactly what I mean." He stopped his motions, and Pete was still moving against him, desperate for attention.

"You can't help it." There was a smirk on the scarred teen's lips when he wiggled even lower, Peter's growing arousal pressed against his stomach.

His teeth tugged on the top button of the blue pajamas, and when he didn't manage it open within a few minutes, he tore backwards, popping the button off completely. Pete, who had since been let out of the vice grip, had his fingers tangled in dark hair, urging him on regardless of what his mind was telling him. The sadist, impatient, sat straighter and ripped the shirt all the way open, the dainty male's hands slipping from his head and falling at his sides.

His teeth dragged along the torso painted with bruises, bite marks, and scratches, stopping when he got to the hem of the smaller male's pants. He bit and tugged downwards, not even hesitating to take all of Pete into his mouth, bobbing his head and sucking hard as he pulled away. There were hands in his hair again, fisting when he went down and releasing when he could think again. He hated it, every delightful second, every flick of a tongue he had familiarized himself with. His body was betraying him, hips bucking up into the mouth around him, Gary not even protesting.

Pete had taken a rough hold of Gary's hair and had tugged him upwards, yanking him so that they were kissing. Gary obeyed with a muffled chuckle, removing the ugly pants completely and grinding himself against the male under him, who wrapped his legs around slender hips. If he didn't quite enjoy himself so much, it would have been better, but Gary was intent on making him relish every second of it. He was making a point, Peter knew, that no matter how much he hated him, he would still need him. Gary was right; he was always right.

"Hurry it up." Pete snapped when their lips parted for a moment, the older teen looking down to fumble not-so-blindly with the button his fingers had been struggling with.

Peter closed his eyes tightly with the anticipation of pain, wiggling in his spot and tensing his muscles. Gary let out a shaky breath and shoved into the smaller male without so much as a warning, thrusting forward painfully. Pete cried out with a strained, ragged noise, clawing at anything he could reach. It hurt so much that he shied away, but when the larger teen slammed into him again, he was pressing into the contact.

"More, Gary." Pete managed with raspy words, and the sadist sped up, hitting his prostate with every move.

The dainty male arched for a better angle, yanking Gary by his hair again so that he was at his neck, letting every bit of his rage melt into the bed sheets. The sadist chuckled against his throat, nipping on the sensitive flesh, digging his nails into the almost-faded marks on his hips. They were both groaning, Pete on a higher pitch, challenge in the scratches he left on the other teen's clothed back.

Pete slipped his hands up the shirt and dragged his clawed fingers down the scarred skin. The sadist grunted and bit down, the sting matching a particularly painful thrust. The dainty male lifted his head to allow the other teen more access to his neck and found himself close, pushing down on the raw pressure erratically.

"Hngh Gar, I'm…" There were calloused fingers wrapped around him, pumping quickly.

Gary pushed in roughly a few more times, deliberate and teasing, before his body stopped letting him slow down, and he shook them both with a series of sharp thrusts. Pete whined and pushed and pulled and scratched as he came, hissing to hide the need for verbal release.

"Get out." Pete snapped when he had recovered, mirroring Gary's cruelty.

"Like Hell." Gary snapped back with a grin, and he pressed his index finger to the smaller male's battered lips, still dripping with orgasm.

Pete scowled and clamped his lips shut, Gary thrusting forward again and making him hold back a pained grunt. After a few motions did nothing for him, he sat up straighter, no longer supporting himself with his other hand, and held Pete's nose tightly closed. The dainty male stared up at him with disbelief, unconsciously rolling his hips against the delicious pressure inside him, keeping his mouth closed.

"Don't pass out. You know how much I hate that sort of thing." Gary joked, sounding almost labored as he gently thrust into the writhing boy, rocking slowly.

Peter realized that Gary wasn't going to relent, so he opened his mouth and let the repulsive taste spread over his tongue. Because they were _his_ fingers, he lapped and sucked, suppressing his embarrassed nausea. The older teen had let go of his nose and was stroking him, grunting with thrill and matching his now-rough pace with his hand. Pete gently bit into the fingers in his mouth, ankles locked behind the older teen's back, forcing him deeper with every motion.

The fingers were removed and Gary attacked Peter's lips with his own, both of their moans caught in tangled tongues and gaping mouths. They tasted sex and sweat and blood and each other, moving more frantically as Gary reached the edge. He pounded furiously again, both of his hands on the other male's hips, lifting him off of the bed.

They pulled away from the kiss, panting into the cold air, nails digging into the top of the sadist's forearms. Little crimson dots bubbled from the white lines on tanned flesh, euphoria wrapping them both in mindless, animalistic need. They both came, teeth clamped painfully on the top of Peter's shoulder, fingers tangled tightly in brown hair.

"You don't taste bad." Gary mused breathily, resting on his heels as he pulled away.

"You taste like sin." The smaller male growled back viciously, admiring the skin under his fingernails and scattered hairs torn from the sadist's scalp.

"You love it."


	12. Broken

Broken

[A/N: I can't write after I party. Seriously, I had to re-write this chapter three times.]

Peter was sitting on the couch in the common room, staring at the television blankly, ignorant of the world around him. It was cold, so he had taken his blanket from his room to wrap around his form, some kind of sitcom playing before him. There were a few other people spending their idle time there, but Pete was unmoving in the chaos, completely ignored because of his stillness.

He wasn't really in much pain anymore. It was just an overall exhaustion, like he had been working for a very long time and had finally been given an opportunity to rest. The show was boring, but the laughing sequences were somehow calming, like a comforting crowd telling him that there wasn't anything serious happening.

Weight shifted and Peter almost fell sideways, moving into his previous position immediately. Someone else was sitting on the couch, but Pete didn't care enough to investigate, tired eyes locked on the moving colors. There was a badly-made pie, and when one of the characters ate a bite, he flailed about with exaggerated motions like he had swallowed the foulest thing on Earth.

"Hey, Petey, you okay?" Pete turned away from to screen to look at the stern face before him, unreadable.

"Yeah, I'm alright. How are you?" The dainty male didn't care that his voice was raspy and bland, that he looked and sounded anything but alright.

"Good, I guess." Jimmy replied, shrugging and ignoring Peter's blatant disregard of his attempt at comfort.

"Been busy, I hear." Pete was trying to breed idle chatter; it was really all he was capable of at that point.

"Yeah, I guess I have." Jimmy wasn't keen on telling the tired, bruised male about his progress.

There was a silence, thick and daunting, Peter turning towards the television again and Jimmy glancing at the obviously damaged teen through the corner of his eye. After a while, the bulky male stood from the sofa and left Pete in his thoughtlessness, soon followed by the two bullies that had been making such a loud racket. The TV was suddenly a blaring noise, and Pete stood, flipping it off.

He sat back down to stare at the blank screen - breath becoming gentler - until he dozed, curled into a little ball on the couch. Had he been in his right mind, Peter would never have slept in such an open place, surrounded by untrustworthy people, but he was too tired to care. He found comfort in sleep; the dark, deep relief of nothingness. It was always interrupted by something, but while he was allowed those fleeting moments of peace, his world didn't seem quite as unbearable.

Another shift of weight, gone unnoticed by the sleeping male, forced him to fall sideways. The crumpled form could barely be recognized as a human, wrapped so tightly in the blanket that he almost resembled a pile of disregarded laundry. His head was even covered, nothing but his nose poking out from a perfect cocoon.

Gary wasn't fooled, though. He knew that the head on his lap was Pete's, that the dainty male relaxed unconsciously against him, that they were alone because it was so late at night. The older teen cleared his throat, staring at the blank television, then looked down at the motionless ball of covers huddled against him. He lifted his knee and Pete sat up abruptly, eyes half-alert but filled with panic. He calmed when he saw who he had been cuddled against, though he didn't understand why.

"Oh. Hey."

"You're just as tired as me, aren't you?" Gary wasn't looking at him as he spoke, staring at his hand then the wall with blatant boredom.

"What?" Pete was still in the haze of sleep, and was having trouble processing anything, let alone a vague bit of reasoning.

Gary loomed over the smaller male, hands on either side of his torso, supporting himself on the sofa. He looked sinister in the darkness, eyes shaded so that they were unreadable, lips a thin, straight line on his scarred face. Pete scurried backwards, trapped by the armrest, and growled a gentle threat he was too weak to voice.

"You look tired. You look awful, actually. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were sick."

"It's your fault, you know. You break people." Peter had no idea where that little bit of challenge had come from.

"Are you saying you're broken?" Gary sounded inquisitive but looked menacing, and Peter couldn't help that it was thrilling.

"I'll make it all better." There was a hand on Peter's groin; rough, rolling fingers.

Pete slapped the hand away because it was the only thing that made him feel better. He turned away from a gaze he knew was bringing him in because he couldn't help but feed the monster. He wasn't torn anymore, just angry. He realized the rift between his mind and his body, the fact that they were separate entities, that Gary had one wrapped around his finger, but not the other.

"What's wrong with you, hm?" The sadist grabbed roughly onto the chin before him, yanking Peter so that he looked at the angry expression he wore.

"You're a goddamn monster, that's what!" Pete snapped, shoving the hand away from him and struggling onto the floor.

He crawled with frantic motions towards the doorway because he was dreadfully tired. He planned on getting to his room, locking the door, and shoving a chair under the handle for good measure, intent on keeping his tormentor away. There was a large hand on the back of the dainty male's shirt and he was wrenched backwards. The thwack of the back of his head against tile rang through Pete's entire body, and he didn't even notice calloused fingers working on the button to his pants.

Gary was tired, too. The other teen was intent on playing games, denying him, fighting until his body gave out and he tugged him close. The sadist didn't understand why Peter deprived himself something he most definitely wanted, why he was insistent on his "no's" more often than his "yes's". Gary never refused himself anything, so he saw the dainty male's rejection of his own pleasure as an injustice he had to rectify. That was what he told himself when Peter struggled against him, anyways.

Peter was still reeling when a hand was wrapped around him, groaning gently at the abuse. He mouthed protests but was incapable of voicing them, something cotton-like trapped in his mouth. When he opened his eyes, the dark room was spinning, and when he closed them there were dancing colors clouding his would-be vision.

The dainty male patted about to try and find the person who was so blatantly disregarding his request, hand finding Gary's front, covered by too much clothing. Peter suddenly wanted to tear every article away and humiliate him in front of the world, strung up like a picturesque horror movie, then there was a tongue brushing against his lips and he was tugging at dark hair regardless of his real desire.

He imagined their positions switched, that Gary was defenseless against the attacks that always tore chunks from his sanity, that he had a choice in the euphoria he was feeling. He wrapped his legs around the hips above his and flipped them, grinding into the hand around him and biting onto the tongue in his mouth.

Gary immediately sat up to combat the challenge, groping the smaller teen's ass through his pants and pulling him forward so that their torsos were touching. Pete yanked away from the aggressive kiss and moaned into the cold air, using Gary's hair to tug his head back, exposing the scarred neck before him. He dipped down to lap at one of the marks that protruded from the shirt, nibbling and grinding. There were anxious hands on the hem of Peter's pants, tugging them just below his hips, the dainty male too occupied with scar-worship to notice.

"You're hostile tonight." Gary chuckled when Peter's teeth dug into his flesh, sure to leave a bruise.

Peter had released his vice grip on the other teen's hair and was fumbling with the button to his pants, reaching in and stroking roughly. He massaged the tip with his nail, Gary hissing and growling at the sudden pain, then he shifted over the sadist and bore down. He had to attack the sadist's lips with his own to hold back the pained whimper that would have given them away, rolling up then down again on the excruciating intrusion.

Gary took hold of the dainty male's hips and forced him downward more roughly, resulting in a cracked yelp. It was easier when the other male was in control, but Pete refused to let go of his power, even if it was an illusion.

"You are… Nothing but an… Object." The cruel words shot right to the tension between Peter's thighs, and he groaned against the scar he was once again biting on.

Gary sounded labored, and Peter told himself that was the reason for the twitch in his arousal, but he knew it was because of the abuse. The fact that he was being so ferociously fucked was testament to his masochism, along with the fact that he was doing it to himself. He would have broken into a pitiful fit of sobs had it not felt like heaven. He would have fought Gary off of him had his body not been dreadfully responsive to every bit of rough treatment.

"You're… a rapist." Pete replied, proud of the strength in his tone, even if it was in a haze of lust.

Their positions were suddenly flipped, Gary growling low in his throat. Peter was pounded into hardheartedly, the sadist's face illuminated by the light from the hallway. The dainty male bit his lip, realizing there was nothing to muffle his noises, then he looked up at the cruel glare he was getting from the older teen. His lips parted and he panted loudly, groaning when he was completely full. Gary's eyebrows furrowed and he bared his teeth, a silent warning of harm, but Pete was already in pain.

"Shut up!" Gary hissed through clenched teeth, tugging the other boy's hips to meet his own.

Peter's noises only grew, arching his back so that the thrusts were hitting his prostate more directly. He was mewling, the sound punctuated by a little yelp, and there was a hand over his mouth, barely enough to muffle the sound. Gary considered stopping, but his body ached at the very thought, so he used his other hand to pump the dainty male quickly, waiting for the tightening of his orgasm and hoping it would bring him over the brink.

Pete closed his eyes and whined a high-pitched noise that couldn't be hidden by the makeshift muffle, ignoring the fact that he would be just as humiliated if they were discovered. He came with a long, drawn-out moan, shivering and tightening. Gary hunched and let go of the smaller teen's mouth to grab onto his hips and force into him viciously. He came, too, wracked with a fit of pleased convulsions, huffing out of his gaping mouth.

His fist shot out and hit the unscathed side of Peter's face, landing on his eye. Peter laughed because he couldn't cry, the prying noise winning him another blow, this one to his jaw. The spiteful smile never left his now-bloodied lips, and Peter stared up at the rage on Gary' face with tired amusement.

"I made you angry." The dainty male said with bored exhaustion.

"You need to learn your fucking place!" Gary roared before he stood and stormed out of the common room.

Peter had won. He was bleeding from more than one orifice, was sporting two more bruises, and had been forced into another orgasm against his will, but he had won. It was freeing somehow, that he had made Gary lose his temper the way he had just by a little bit of disobedience. He stood, pulled up his pants, and returned to his room, falling immediately to sleep as the sun peaked up from behind the horizon.


	13. Don't Tell Anybody

Don't Tell Anybody

[A/N: I would like to thank Concentration Maple-ation for plotting with me and saving me from the block monster, my brain for being such a good worker, and all you other readers who continue to enjoy my pornographic work and put up with my crazy. Thank you.]

"Hey." Pete sounded almost bitter, glancing out of the eye that wasn't swollen shut to see Jimmy walking next to him.

It was lunch time, and the dainty male wasn't in the mood to be in the cafeteria. It seemed like every female he came across was insistent on an explanation of the new bruises, and he didn't care to make up some silly story. All he wanted to do was eat his peanut butter and jelly sandwich in peace, without prying questions and faked worry. Jimmy, who had been lingering just outside the building, thought the frail teen might like some company, so he silently offered to walk back to the dorms with him.

"What's up?" The larger of the two tried with a tone that lacked the pity that Peter was dreadfully tired of.

"Not much. Gonna try and eat lunch without being bombarded with questions." The dainty male replied, a genuine smile on his broken lips.

"Guess I won't ask, then." Jimmy looked as stern as ever, and he practically crashed through the doors with his usually-aggressive mannerism.

Pete followed him into the dorm building, holding his lunch to his chest as he stepped into the messy hallway. He went immediately into the common room, sitting in his usual spot on the couch. Jimmy sat near him, turning on the television and listening to a silly commercial jingle as Pete attacked his sandwich with starving ferocity.

The smaller teen balled up the paper bag his food had been in and tossed it onto the floor, among the other trash, turning his attention to the screen. It was a court show, with a woman who had no case and an innocent looking man dressed in clothing much too informal for court. Jimmy turned to Pete, who was curled into a protective ball, and raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"What?" The dainty male almost sounded defensive when he noticed Jimmy staring at him.

"Gary's bullying you, isn't he?"

Peter was silent, staring back into his oddly kind eyes with his mouth hanging open slightly. He looked down at the floor, realizing that his hesitation gave him away and that the small hum from the bulky teen meant he knew. Pete couldn't form a lie, especially not with someone who would probably keep it a secret if he asked nicely enough, so he turned to him with pleading eyes.

"Don't tell anyone. Please, I-"

"Are you seriously protecting him?" Another tense silence.

"You… You just don't know the whole story." Pete tried with desperation in his shaking tone.

"What is there to know?" Jimmy had turned towards the smaller male, who flinched away as though he would be struck, and the visible tension in the burly teen's body slackened.

"Look at yourself. You really think there's a good reason for those?" Jimmy was motioning to the bruises on his face.

"That's- You just- I-"

"And what about that one?" The larger teen's finger hooked in the collar of his shirt and pulled back, expecting to see a large bruise, pulling away with shock when he realized it was a bite mark.

He looked down at the other male, speechless, confusion on his intimidating features. Pete tried to fade away, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. There were tears stinging at his eyes, but he hid his face in the fabric of his dress shirt and sucked back a sob. After a moment of deliberation, Jimmy stammered out something incoherent, but stopped himself and took a deep breath.

"That's not the worst of it…" Peter's voice was small, but it sliced through the thick tension like a razor.

On shaky legs, Pete made it to his feet. Glancing out of the doorway, he wrapped his hand around the hem of his pink shirt, pulling it up to reveal his chest. The look of confusion on Jimmy's face melted into horror at the bruises and scabbed-over wounds, averting his eyes as the smaller male readjusted his clothing. He would have shown him the bloodied marks on his hips if he had the courage to do so.

"What the fuck did that sociopath do to you?" There was something confounded in Jimmy's tone and Pete gently sat back down.

"It's not so bad, sometimes. He only hurts me when I'm bad-"

"Do you even hear yourself? Christ." He had his arms on Pete's shoulders, shaking him to try and settle the meaning of his words.

"Don't tell anybody. Please." The sheer desperation in the dainty male's gaze was enough to make Jimmy frown sadly, but he faltered and fell back against the couch.

"Don't tell anybody _what?"_

Pete shot into a standing position, eyes filled with fear, Jimmy a bit more deliberate with his motions as he went to his ally's side. Gary walked menacingly to the dainty male, totally ignorant of the other male. Peter had backed against the wall, beside the television, heart in his throat. He would have been pleading with him had there not been something blocking the air to his lungs. Gulping, he realized he had exhaled every bit of breath to make himself smaller, an attempt at getting away from the fist that was about to collide with his already damaged head.

Peter closed his eyes, expecting agony, but there was none. Instead, there was a loud crash, and the dainty male opened his eyes to see a flurry of fabric and limbs. Jimmy had rammed his head into the sadist's side, Gary crashing into the wall and crumpling to the floor. Peter barely managed to get out of the way before an elbow came dangerously close to his face, dropping to the floor and scurrying out of the scuffle.

Jimmy's foot landed on the brunette's chest, but he grunted when a steel-toed boot met his shin, crumpling and landing on the other male's extended leg. Gary kicked Jimmy in the gut, the burly male falling onto his back, and managed to slide into a standing position with his back against the wall before his feet were swept from under him. The sadist was trapped, arm in the other teen's grasp, one leg under his elbow and another holding his shoulder to the floor.

"Stop!" Peter cried in a piercing voice, and Jimmy lost his focus.

The distraction allowed Gary to tug his arm away and roll out of the other male's grasp, hopping to his feet with practiced agility. He kicked Jimmy in the side, reeling and moving to kick again, but his leg was caught and he toppled to the floor. The large teen had the upper hand again, sitting on Gary's stomach and landing blows on his exposed face. The sadist lifted his arms to protect against the attack, but not before Jimmy had landed a mind-numbing series of punches.

"If I ever catch you near Pete again, you're _dead._" Jimmy growled when Gary's arms had gone limp at his sides and he wheezed pitifully through a broken nose.

There was a still moment, as though Gary was weighing his options, and he turned his gaze from the beast of a teen above him to Peter, shivering in the far corner. He looked back at Jimmy with fire in his striking eyes and smirked, spitting into his face. There was another blow to his head and Jimmy stood, wiping crimson from just under his eye. He beckoned Peter, who moved with muted resolve away from the monster cackling on the floor.

"You'll be back, Petey. I know you will." He said before he couldn't maintain his consciousness and passed out from trauma.

"A-are you going to tell?" They were in Jimmy's room, the larger male going through the clothing in his closet absently.

He snorted with amusement and looked back at the hermit, turning to his closet again when Peter almost curled into himself with embarrassment. He stood abruptly and paced towards the door, stopping and leaning his forehead against the wall. He was holding back tears. He had been, off-and-on, for a while, the rage and fear coming back in waves. He shook with powerful emotions, turned away from the burly teen who eyed him suspiciously.

"Thanks, for everything." Peter said shakily before he left and stormed back into the common room.

Gary was right where they had left him, passed out on the floor, breathing raggedly through his gaping mouth. Pete stooped next to him, hands hovering over the wheezing form. He didn't understand why he had come back, torn between kissing bloodied lips and beating more bruises into his skin while he still had the chance. Gary seemed ignorant of his presence, lolling his head to one side and groaning gently.

Pete resolved to take him back to his room, looping his arms under the sadist's and tugging backwards with all of his strength. Grunting with strain, he let the larger male land on the tile again, falling on his ass with nothing to support him.

"You little… Shit." Gary continued to mumble vulgarities, Pete ignoring them to tug on his shoulders again.

He scooted until they were in the hallway, the profanities turned into drunk-sounding protests. Gary's eyes hadn't opened, so Pete assumed that he didn't know who was dragging him, which was the reason for his non-stop remonstrating. He stopped and knelt next to the gurgling teen, catching his breath, then returned to dragging Gary towards his dorm, intent on healing his wounds or at least tucking him into bed.

There were footsteps in his direction and Pete looked up to see Jimmy, arms crossed over his chest, looming with something between frustration and confusion on his face. Pete sat Gary up and slipped under one of his arms, motioning for Jimmy to help him, but there was no relief of the weight. Setting the sadist gently on the floor, the dainty male stood and brushed his bloody palms down the front of his pants, acknowledging the stern-looking teen.

"I'll beat… Your face…" Gary's mumblings were heard above the ringing in Jimmy's ears and the chatter of mixed emotions in Peter's head.

"What are you doing?" Jimmy tried, Pete back to dragging Gary down the hall with weak futility.

"I'm - hng – taking him back to his room." The smaller male replied easily.

Jimmy watched him tug and struggle for a while, finally stooping to yank Gary up over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Peter hurried down the hall to open the door for him and Jimmy tossed him unceremoniously onto his bed, leaving immediately after. The dainty male stood in the doorway, biting his bottom lip and watching Jimmy's bulking form slink away. Half of him wanted to leave the now-snoring sadist in the bed and follow after him, the promise of safety emanating from the hunched teen. The other half had an insatiable need to nurture the scarred male, remembering every kind moment between them with a strange fondness.

"There has to be something seriously wrong with me…" Peter mumbled under his breath, leaning against the wall outside Gary's room and sliding to the dirty floor. Because he was alone, he cried quietly into his arms, sucking in breath greedily.

"I'll… Tear your… Heart out and…. Eat it…" Gary mumbled into the silence, the last bit of strength he had to fight seeping into the warm comfort of his bed.


	14. Belt

Belt

[A/N: This chapter is dedicated to the sadists. Not for the faint of heart or vanilla of sexing. Revenge is a dish best served naked, in my opinion.]

Gary had a belt. He was in the doorway, not even having taken the time to change his clothes after the fight, glaring at Pete with a rage he had only seen directed towards other people before. The dainty male had even locked his door, glancing at it to check if it had been broken from its hinges when it was smashed open. It was late – early, really – and Peter thought he was safe. An icy chill went up his spine when he realized he was never safe, would never be safe.

His legs slid from under the blanket, wearing the pajamas that had been ripped open by the very person walking with meticulous ferocity in his direction. The belt cracked, the noise making Peter's stomach twist, when it was snapped against itself, and Pete practically fell off of the bed. He was incapable of logical thought, caught between the cold eyes on him, the thin line of lips that wasn't even turned up in a smirk, and another horrible sound.

"I'm sorry..." The smaller teen whimpered out, too low to be heard from Gary's distance.

The sadist was at the bed, separated by the mattress, weighing his options. He looked at the free space in the room that wrapped around his obstacle, then at the only escape route Pete had if he went that way, under his feet. When he looked back at the shivering teen, there was a smirk on his broken lips. Cold.

"Please, I didn't know he was going to hurt you…" Peter's voice was trapped in his throat, blood pounding powerfully through his veins. He felt like he would burst from the sheer force of his pulse.

Gary turned to round the bed, walking slowly, every footstep sending another wave of fear through Peter, who was crumpled against the far wall. The dainty male's breathing hitched, and he glanced at the bed, immediately dropping and squirming under it. Even though his motions were rushed, there were strong hands wrapped around his ankles, and he was dragged out from under the bed, thrashing and trying to scream, but nothing came out.

It was like he was in a nightmare. His arms were wrenched behind his back and he was forced to kneel in front of the sadist, who's motions were meticulous and calm. The belt was secured around his wrists, then Gary was still, hands firmly on the things holding the thrashing hermit in place. After a moment of deliberation, the belt was sliding upwards until it was around Pete's elbows, and he choked out a ragged sob.

With one rough yank, his elbows smashed together painfully, Peter's joints creaking with protest in their sockets. He found the breath knocked from his chest at the force of the restraint, gasping loudly with his forehead resting on the floor. There were calloused fingers wrapped around his throat, and he was yanked into a more upright position, blinking tears out of his eyes. He saw the doorway, streams of light hitting the moisture clouding his vision.

There was something prodding at his mouth, and he clamped his lips shut, a hand immediately on his nose. They were both kneeling on the floor, Gary holding the dainty male against him with the hand constricting his air supply, a sock in his other hand. When Pete realized there was no winning, he gulped in air unevenly, the article of clothing stuffed into his gaping mouth.

Peter whimpered, unable to breathe through his mouth with the cotton in his way, thanking Gary that it was at least clean, but there were still rough fingers on his nose. The sadist let go and Pete sucked in air, faltering to the floor again. He squirmed against the belt around his arm, trying to spit out the sock, but Gary was tying a tie in a taunting little bow around his head.

"I told you that you needed to learn your place. This is it, Petey." Gary had yanked him into an upright position again by the thing holding his makeshift gag in place, his other hand brushing over his pale chest.

He found a nipple, massaging it because he knew how much Pete hated to love it, then trailed down to the wound he had inflicted near the smaller male's hip. His finger brushed against it tauntingly, and there was a muffled scream from the bound male, turned to a broken sob when Gary's finger prodded roughly. His finger wiggled past the scab and into the white-hot injury, Pete thrashing again. His chest cavity was straining against his brutal restraints, heaving and expanded.

His hands were against Gary's front, brushing over his navel, and he gripped onto the bloodied fabric with desperate fingers. He couldn't manage a proper hold, and let his arms fall limp, trying to work his way out of the sadist's iron grip. Gary's finger dipped into the wound again, forcing another noise to melt into the fabric as teeth dug into his neck.

He was suddenly shoved onto his back, Gary kissing the gag tauntingly. From what Peter could see of his eyes, they were still bitterly cold. The sadist trailed a series of stinging bites down his exposed torso, Pete arching against his restraints and groaning unhappily at the growing heat in his pants. They were yanked roughly from his battered hips, tossed away carelessly, and there was a mouth around him, sucking.

Pete couldn't help the throbbing need or the blistering pleasure, pushing up immediately into the attention that was more shocking than the attack. The dainty male kept repeating mathematical equations in his head, if only to make it so the sadist didn't have the satisfaction of an orgasm, but he was bucking and writhing and moaning, even with the door wide open. He turned his head to look at the light that always seemed to be on in the hallway, remembering the time, falling back into euphoria when Gary groaned around him.

The hermit looked back at the ceiling, then down at the bobbing head of hair that was moving so fervently he thought he would implode. He tried to wrap his legs around the older male's torso, but they were shoved down roughly, a blatant dismissal of his request for power. Pete thought he would spiral into nothing without something to hold on to, scraping at his own hands as he found himself dreadfully close.

His eyes, which he didn't remember closing, snapped open when the wet heat was gone, but he was hardly surprised. He bucked into nothing, kicking frantically when he felt strong fingers wrapped around both of his thighs. There was something against his entrance, then Gary thrust into him, not minding to ease into it.

Pete hadn't actually believed that Gary had ever gone easy on him until then, the initial thrust making his shoulders burn as they were scraped against the carpet. He cried out with pain and euphoria he hated, wracked with another powerful motion that smashed into his prostate roughly. He was crying, forgetting his shame, too enveloped in pain and pleasure and self-loathing to remember his manners. When he wrapped his legs around the older male's hips, Gary didn't protest, only he was lifted off the ground and fucked in a position that made his bound arms protest angrily.

Peter wanted it to stop, wanted it to continue, wanted it to end and go on forever at the same time, blinking away another few tears and groaning desperately into the gag when he was wracked by a series of cruel thrusts. He came against his tormentor's front, tightening with a powerful orgasm, but there was unceasing motion.

When he closed his eyes, there were white spots where black should have been, every pound against the little bundle of nerves driving him into a pleased state again in seconds. He was pulled out of and flipped, the bruise on his jaw meeting the floor painfully, then Gary was thrusting again. The sadist clawed down his back, shaking with rage and need, grabbing onto the hips that had his fingers indented on them like signatures.

Pete had his knees bent, moving against the pelvis behind him, biting onto his gag and yelping into it whorishly. He didn't care if anyone found them anymore, just that he could have that release, the dreadfully perfect feeling that Gary always brought with him, blinking away another series of tears. Gary was moving more quickly, pounding and huffing. He grunted out an animalistic noise when the boy under him came, following soon after with a fit of convulsions.

When he was done, he yanked Peter's pants back on unceremoniously and tugged the dainty male into a standing position. Using an iron grasp, he yanked at Pete's already abused upper arm, the smaller male crying silently as he was paraded down the deserted hall. Gary kicked Pete in the back of the knees, forcing him to crumple against the door he had been led to, and he knocked loudly on the thing separating him and whoever was on the other side.

"Do you have any idea what- Oh my God." Jimmy opened the door, rubbing his eyes sleepily, before he led the crying boy into his room, setting him on the bed and undoing the gag.

"What happened?" Jimmy asked, working on the belt.

Pete tried to answer, spitting out the sock, but when he spoke, it came out as a broken sob, and he massaged his elbows, bruises growing along where the leather had dug into his skin. He looked up at Jimmy's concerned features and cried again like a child, the larger teen patting his shoulder awkwardly. After a moment of rocking and sobbing, Peter hiccupped his pain into the back of his mind, then glanced at the floor.

"What's wrong with me?" He was referring to the orgasms he had experienced at the sadist's hands, and Jimmy patted his head tenderly.

"Nothing."


	15. Shoes in a Tree

Shoes in a Tree

[A/N: I was listening to California Dreamin' by The Mamas & the Papas when I was writing this chapter. The weather is also bleh, which is the probable reason for my lack of inspiration.

I was reading the character Wiki for Bully, and I realized that Pete has a slight limp in cut scenes. Heh heh heh... I wonder where _that_ came from.]

Peter fell asleep in Jimmy's room, and Jimmy let him, tugging an extra comforter from his closet and wiggling one of the pillows from his bed, careful not to wake the sleeping teen. Pete had been through enough, he didn't need to be forced to the floor. Jimmy fell into a restless kind of doze, and he was awake groggily to his alarm clock, Pete still huddled in a pitiful heap under his covers. He shook the form, and brown eyes snapped open, panic on his features. When he saw Jimmy standing over him, having already showered and dressed, his muscles slackened and he removed the covers.

To both of their horror, a large blood stain was painted on the sheets, and Pete immediately broke into an uncontrollable fit of sobs, still lying on his side with his knees pulled to his chest. Jimmy smiled to hide his displeasure, knowing that it wasn't his fault, patting him on the shoulder and urging him gently out of bed. The bulky male made a mental note to make Gary pay for new sheets the next time he saw him, then looked directly at the broken male in front of him.

Jimmy wasn't nurturing by nature. He wasn't kind at all, really, but when he saw the utter despair on the smaller teen's face, he couldn't help the fact that it tore at his gut to think about what kind of torture he had gone through. Gary, with his insatiable need to destroy things, must have been able to tear Pete from the inside out, both physically and emotionally. By the way Peter sobbed and sniffled at the very thought of the previous night's happenings, he was crueler than Jimmy had first assumed.

"Hey, calm down. They're just sheets." The larger teen was trying to comfort the other male, helping him into a standing position with one of his arms wrapped around his torso.

"He- he's going to kill me." Pete suddenly burst out, losing the bit of sanity he had managed to maintain.

"No, he won't." Nothing but sobbing.

"Pete, he _won't_." Jimmy's tone had gone stern, and he stared down at the male he was supporting with a sure kind of tenderness.

The dainty male's head fell and he limped painfully towards Jimmy's bathroom, stopping and leaning against the door when he no longer had a warm body there for support. Apologetically, he shuffled to catch Jimmy's gaze, the larger male beginning to leave.

"I'm sorry. I should never have gotten you involved. If I would have just kept my mouth shut none of this-"

"Petey, stop. It's not your fault. None of this is your fault." Jimmy's tone was kind and gentle.

"But it is!" Peter almost lost his footing, catching himself on the doorknob.

"Why on Earth would you think that? You were raped, Pete, _raped_. Gary is the one who needs to be apologizing, not you. I'm not arguing with you anymore. Get cleaned up and change my sheets on your way out." Jimmy's voice wasn't angry, just exasperated, and he closed the door behind him as he left.

Peter walked with his hands stuffed into the pockets of a coat he had found in Jimmy's closet, much too large for him. He was moping around like the undead, dragging his feet and hanging his head sadly. He limped as he went, looking up from the cement under his shoes to see that he had wandered into the preps' territory.

The preps, however demeaning they might have been, weren't half as cruel as the bullies or the jocks, resigning to snicker at the teen and whisper behind his back. Pete didn't mind passive-aggressive; it was much, much better than aggressive. Because he had nowhere to go, his feet pattered gently on the grass inside the gates that separated the rich from the proles. He leaned against a tree and breathed in the chilled air, letting some of his tension leave through his lungs with the exhale.

The dainty male was invisible. He was mostly disregarded by the majority of the other students, ignored by every clique unless he just happened to be in their way that day. He hated it, how he went unnoticed, but it wasn't so bad when he had the fleeting moments of peace in their territories. There was the little clearing that had been tainted by Gary near the jocks, a space mostly enclosed by bookcases in the library, and the lovely tree he was reading under then, all considered his little pieces of the world by him, and only him.

The sky was a dusty grey, and there was a fog still hanging about in the air, winter bringing frigid gusts over the battered male. He didn't look half as bad as the day before; the swelling in his face had gone down considerably, but the itch and ache of healing followed him like his own personal cloud. There was also agony in his newly-reopened wound and stinging backside, but he ignored every bit of pain and went on as usual. Nothing would bring him down, he told himself, not when he was already at the bottom of whatever hole he had dug himself.

"I don't think I've ever seen you before." Derby was standing over the cross-legged male, Bif hanging not two feet back with his arms crossed over his chest.

There was nothing but interest in the prep's tone, and he extended his hand to help Peter to his feet. The smaller teen eyed the limb wearily, but shrugged, put his book down, and took it. When Pete was on his feet he brushed his hands on the front of his pants and stooped gingerly to grab his book. The two other boys were looking him over, Derby holding his hand against his chin in thought.

"What's your name?" The leader tried, smiling down at the dainty male, who seemed ignorant of his power.

"Peter." He replied shortly, features stoic with a hint of bemusement.

"Would you do something for us, maybe?" Peter raised his eyebrows, starting to lose interest.

"What do you need?"

"Come with us, you'll see."

Peter was right to not trust him, glancing at the blond, then at his personal guard wearily. He was cautious, and even though there was very little he could do to avoid most things, he always trusted his gut, which was twisting unhappily at the thought of whatever would be at the end of the request. Derby huffed and beckoned the smaller male towards him, Pete limping after them when they turned and left. They led him around the back of the ornate building and stopped before a tree, pointing at it nonchalantly.

"Bif is an idiot," There was an unhappy grunt behind the two males. "And he threw some expensive shoes into that tree."

Peter eyed them with disbelief, then looked back at the tree. There was no way he would be able to scale it, not when he had so little upper body strength and was recovering from multiple wounds. He knew his limp was noticeable; several people had asked about it, so he thought that the two rich males would understand that he was hardly in the condition to climb trees.

"I don't think I can help you, I'm sorry." The dainty male said with his most polite tone, and he went to leave, walking with an unthreatened air.

Bif stepped into his way, arms crossed over his chest, features strong and sure. Peter looked form the lackey to his boss, not even a hint of fear on his features. The apathy surprised Derby, and his smug look melted into confusion, eyes locked with Pete's.

"You're seriously going to try and intimidate me with that pit bull? I've dealt with much worse on a good day." He tried to walk around the baffled prep, but his way was blocked again, and he huffed with exasperation.

He was too tired to deal with self-righteous egotists, especially after the previous night's torture, raising his eyebrows expectantly at the two. The preps didn't know how to react, Bif maintaining his stern stature even though Pete wasn't intimidated by it at all, Derby gawking and speechless. Bif looked at his leader, who mirrored his confusion, then they both resolved.

There was a fist in the smaller teen's gut, and he doubled over, groaning at the grass. He didn't understand why he had such terrible luck, why every person he came across seemed to want to beat him senseless, why he fell to the ground and accepted every kick without protest. Bif was doing all the work, Derby standing back to watch Peter grunt on the ground.

The wound above the dainty male's hip had reopened, and he was bleeding through his pink shirt, hidden under the large jacket he had borrowed. There was a pang of guilt at another debt, the teen trying to wiggle out of the way of another kick. It only managed him a more painful blow, on his ribcage, and he cried out raggedly.

His eyes opened, staring with anger up at his attacker, who was slowly swinging his leg back, but Bif was suddenly on the ground. Derby gasped aloud and backed against the wall, absolutely no help when he was surprised, but Peter was already crawling away from the scuffle. When he was far enough to see the gate, he glanced over his shoulder, almost falling onto his face when he saw who it was that had rescued him.

Peter was expecting to see Jimmy, who was more than a match for Bif, but instead there was a leaner, more agile form that managed himself from the prep's grasp. He took off in Peter's direction, a twisted smile on his lips, and he said something that couldn't get through the buzzing in the battered boy's ears. His attention was wrenched from Gary, who had rounded the corner and was sprinting as quickly as he could, to the two males barreling his way.

The dainty boy got the hint and took off after Gary, making it out of the gates before his lungs stopped working. He stumbled forward, wheezing, and collapsed on the ground, crawling towards the sadist who stopped at the sudden thump behind him. Pete patted his front pocket, realizing that he had left his inhaler in his room, sitting on the desk. With cloudy eyes, he glanced upwards, the sadist approaching him, blinked, and opened his eyes again when he was tugged off the ground.

Gary was carrying him away from the threatening teens behind them, exerting himself to rescue him, and Pete clung to him for dear life. The older male, who started out at a slow jog, was running, huffing with strain. They were almost at the dorms when Peter passed out against his captor's chest, tossed onto his bed and forced to inhale his medications by rough, familiar hands.

He gasped into lucidity, grabbing the inhaler out of Gary's hands and exhaling slowly. He sucked in the coppery flavor, eyes fluttering closed with the fading panic, then he realized exactly who was in the room with him. He pulled his knees to his chest defensively, eyes wide, the wound on his stomach pulsating at the thought of going another round. Gary pulled a chair noisily out from where it had been neatly tucked under Peter's desk and sat on it informally, legs parted by the back of it.

"I'm not going to hurt you." He said, but Pete didn't slacken his tension one bit.


	16. It's Worse when He's Nice

It's Worse when He's Nice

[A/N: There's a nice Gary in this chapter, 'cause that's where it took me. And there's a surprise! Maybe, I dunno, I'm writing this note in the middle of my progress. I was listening to The Strokes and Franz Ferdinand as I wrote this thing. It took me a few hours, since I kept on getting distracted by these damn things called classes that I have to show up to. Ugh…]

"Jesus, calm down!" Gary leaned his chin on the back of the chair and rolled his eyes, palms open to the hermit.

Peter wasn't having it. He stood from his bed, still shaking with panic, and tried for the door. He paused when Gary didn't move from his seat, making no attempt to stop him. Brown eyes glanced over his shoulder, meeting intense orbs that stared apathetically back at him, and he wracked his mind for an explanation.

Gary had saved him. Not only had he been there to keep the preps from beating him half to death, he had prevented a potentially disastrous asthma attack, lifting and carrying him across the grounds even with the threat of facing one of the best fighters at the school. There was something apologetic in the sadist's gaze, and Pete limped back to the bed, feet kept firmly on the ground, just in case he needed to run.

"What do you want?" The dainty male tried, glancing up from the floor after an uncomfortable silence.

"Ungrateful, much?" Gary purred, a smile on his broken lips.

After a moment of staring the sadist down, Pete took Jimmy's jacket off, ignoring him entirely. There was a red spot on the shirt, seeping and spreading over the pink. Gary looked at it with an unreadable expression, and Peter scowled at the male sitting across from him. That was one of the many reasons for his lack of trust, they both knew, and Peter reached under his bed for his first aid pack.

There was tense silence as Peter stripped off his shirt, the older teen admiring the pale chest dotted with bruises. The dainty male applied a large Band-Aid to the thing that had given him more problems than it should have, hissing when he hunched his shoulders and the bandage rubbed painfully against it. His dark eyes were sharp when their gazes met, smile gone from the scarred teen's lips.

"You deserve to be put away." Peter said matter-of-factly, Gary still unmoving with indecipherable resolve.

"You don't really think that, do you?" There were thorns in his voice, so calm and collected they tore Peter's composure away.

He stood from the bed, ignoring how his worn muscles protested against the sudden motion, and Gary was standing too. He had such a threatening air, but the dainty male didn't care, beating his fists against the older teen's chest with enraged futility. He sobbed and growled and flailed, crumbling into nothing when there were strong arms wrapped around him.

Gary held onto the thrashing boy, rocking him back and forth by his heels, the front of his sweater vest wrinkled and pulled at by desperate hands. There was a hand on the back of Peter's head, leaning him from his vice grip on the older male, sharp eyes that so seldom held any affection staring down at the shivering form.

Pete gasped and sobbed into the otherwise quiet room, slowly being led backwards until his knees met the bed and he sat onto the mattress. Gary held him close, standing before him and staring into space as he lapsed.

The smaller teen was mumbling incoherent threats and profanities, hiccupping like a child, forgetting the fact that he should have been ashamed. The entire situation was too much to take, and he was slowly losing his mind, Gary taking little bits of his sanity every time he was tender. The kindness was the worst part of it, the little moments of humanity that made Pete questions his resolve. There was lust and anger, both of which made sense, but the feeling in the pit of his stomach and the warmth that flooded his chest cavity had no place in any of it.

"I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you…" The hermit had taken to repeating his proclamation of loathing as he was comforted by the very person who had driven him to the frantic state he was in.

His arms were betraying him. Instead of beating against the chest before him, scratching at the face that was out of view because he was nuzzled into a uniform, he pulled Gary closer and held on for dear life. There was nothing to understand, just a natural need for warmth, the unconscious mind taking over as he was caressed and held.

"I don't hate you, Petey." Gary said before he tugged Pete backwards, staring into tear-stained eyes.

He leaned down and placed a soft kiss on his lips, Pete whimpering but kissing back regardless of his screaming psyche. Gary stood back, not breaking the contact, and tilted his head with a silent inquiry. When the shivering teen reached out his bruised arms and tugged him forward again, their mouths crashed together.

Teeth behind lips against teeth behind lips, a hand on the inside of a thigh, tears wiped away with a calloused hand. Peter was on his back, Gary looming over him and worshiping his throat with his usual aggression, the dainty male letting him because the contact faded the dreadful feeling of disdain and remorse.

"I hate you, Gary." He said again, a grunt of acknowledgement sounding from the place on Pete's shoulder that Gary was nibbling on.

There were pale fingers in dark hair, and the older of the two hummed when there was a sharp yank. He looked up, the flushed face of his captive turned towards the ceiling, and lapped gently at the battered flesh with an animalistic kind of apology. Gary's fingers rolled over the growing arousal in the younger boy's pants, Pete huffing and groaning, ignoring his fear of discovery. He was in too much pain to care.

Gary's tongue was on Pete's throat again, brushing over his Adam's apple as he began to thrust into the hand against him. Gary moved closer, his clothed front against the other teen's naked one, grinding against his own hand. He considered tugging away what remained of Peter's clothing and taking him, but the pronounced limp told him that it would have done more harm than good.

The sadist resolved to rub through their clothing, removing his hand and brushing his fingers over one of the bruises on Pete's torso. Pete whimpered more loudly than he should have, tugging at the older teen's now-tender scalp with more force. The smaller boy was moving against Gary, arching his back and letting him slip one of his arms into the space between him and the bed. He was pulled to move more roughly against his companion, lifted into an upright position.

Gary's face was inches away from Peter's, their heated breath mingling, and the smaller teen kissed him forcefully. The sadist yanked them both so that the dainty male was on top, grinding with his battered hips and groaning into Gary's mouth. They tilted their faces and attacked each other with their tongues, battling for dominance.

The scarred teen growled low in his throat when he felt teeth dig gently into his tongue, flipping them again and breaking the forceful kiss to quicken his pace. Pete was writhing, eyes closed tightly, whimpering and groaning at the delicious friction. The tug of his pants was driving him into a pitiful state of animal want, yanking on Gary's hair with one hand, digging his nails into one of the sadist's scars with the other. He climaxed with a cracked noise, twitching under the amused stare the older teen was giving him.

Neither of them noticed the form standing in the doorway, watching every labored thrust with confused horror.


	17. Excuses

Excuses

[A/N: What's with the cliffhanger chapters, you might ask? I've been wondering the same thing. My muse is driving this bus full on nuns, you know, and that bitch is crazy.]

Gary stopped suddenly, the hairs on the back of his neck raised. The door to Pete's room no longer had a working lock, so it was easily opened, and the smaller male had apparently been much too loud. He stared down at Peter, who was still panting from the crash of his climax, confusion on his features. Suddenly, the sadist was wrenched backwards by the cuff of his shirt, landing against the wall.

There was a forearm in his throat, Gary choking and scratching against the brute who scowled with pure hate at him. Jimmy, who had been keeping a careful eye on the smaller teen's room, investigated when the door closed with a loud bang. He had spent a while weighing his options, wondering if he should invade the dainty male's privacy or not, but when he heard a pained noise from his dorm, he rushed in.

He hadn't expected for Gary to be there, or for Pete to have been enjoying it as much as he looked like he had, pushing with the same force back onto the male who had violated him so cruelly the night before. Jimmy couldn't comprehend it, but he took it as some kind of power play, that Gary made him love it, that he was an attacker.

He was choking the older teen, who bared his teeth, rage in his eyes. His leg kicked out at him, catching his knee, but Jimmy held strong with nothing but a pained grimace. He glanced over his shoulder at the half-naked teen, who was pulling his blood-drenched shirt from the floor and slipping it over his head.

"Please, let him go. I can explain." Peter's tone was small, and Jimmy looked back at the sadist, who was weakening from lack of oxygen.

When he released Gary, he fell to the ground, supporting himself on one arm and rubbing his bruised neck with the other. He coughed as the two other males addressed each other, Jimmy staring his ally down with anger he couldn't shed. Pete looked like a guilty child, fiddling his thumbs and staring at the floor. There was tension behind his eyes, like he would cry, but nothing came out when he blinked slowly.

"Well?" Jimmy snapped at him, Pete flinching at the sharp noise.

"He saved me. From Bif and Derby." The dainty male looked at Gary's form, breath becoming less labored as he recovered.

"What?"

"He tackled Bif to keep him from beating me up. And he carried me to the dorms when I had an asthma attack. I'm sorry, Jimmy, but I-I owe him." His pleading eyes began to water, and he looked up at the burly male with such an innocent air that Jimmy lost his anger.

Gary sat up from his position on the floor, staring at both of the other males with animosity on his damaged features. He forgot the little bit of sympathy he had for the smallest, staggering to his feet while Jimmy held the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. His mind was racing, and Pete reached out a tentative hand, Jimmy moving out of its way.

Pete caught motion out of the corner of his eye, opening his mouth to warn his protector, but there was a shirt wrapped around Jimmy's throat before he had time to react. The look on Gary's face made Peter want to fade into nothing, terror welling up in his gut.

Jimmy collapsed to the floor, gasping with a gaping mouth into the room. Pete was struck still, frozen with the horrific realization that Gary was trying to kill him, that the look his face was more than simple rage. Jimmy managed to get his fingers under the shirt that was cutting off his air supply, and yanked with so much force that it was wrenched out of the sadist's grasp. He gasped greedily then flipped onto his back on the floor, kicking Gary in the jaw.

There was the dreadful sound of teeth against teeth, Gary falling to the floor and Jimmy landing his fist on the scarred teen's stomach. Pete, who had been entranced by terror, found his voice and whimpered gently. He flopped down before Jimmy could land another blow to the other teen's midsection, suddenly in the way.

Jimmy stopped mid-punch, gawking at the display, Pete looking as though he was prepared for a beat-down. The largest male sat on his heels, Gary too spent to fight back either, and they stayed in that position for a while. Pete's muscles slackened and he glanced up at the stern – but not angry – features of his protector, who was standing to leave.

"Jimmy-"

The large male turned in the doorway, Pete scurrying to where he was. There was a cold, expectant look on his face, and Pete stopped his explanation, realizing that he didn't understand it either. His gaze fell to the floor, and Jimmy left them, Gary laughing maniacally.

"Did you lose your bodyguard because you're such a whore, Petey? Maybe he's jealous. Go suck him off, I'm sure he'll be on your side again."

"Shut up, Gary." Pete snapped, and he walked in Jimmy's direction, following his loud footsteps.

When Jimmy made it to his room, he stopped and turned towards the dainty male, tilting his head with something between pity and disbelief on his face. Peter couldn't take the expression, and stared at the tile floor again, gaze caught between his own feet.

"I tried to tell you. It-it's complicated."

"Complicated? He's abusing you! You understand that, don't you?" Jimmy pointed to the doorway to Peter's dorm, Gary staring out of it with a twisted smirk on his damaged features.

"Yes, I know, I just..."

"You just _what_?"

Pete was silent. He didn't have a good answer. His mind was making up things, like the deal that had stopped all-to-quickly or the fact that he didn't have any choice. The latter wouldn't have explained the way he threw himself in front of Jimmy's fist, protecting the boy who was chuckling at his insecurity. His blood became cold as Jimmy turned from him again and opened his door, stepping through the doorway before he stopped.

"Come back when you have a good reason." Jimmy didn't even bother to look back at Pete, who was torn between knocking on his door with panic and returning to the waiting predator in his room.

He crumpled to the ground and pulled his knees to his chest, back against the wall near Jimmy's dorm. He closed his eyes and grunted with frustration, clamping his jaw shut to prevent a whimper. If he let himself cry again, he wouldn't be able to stop.

Finding the strength to open his eyelids, closed so tightly that his vision was blurred for a moment, he saw black boots right in front of him, bulky and rounded at the toes. Peter trailed his gaze up the sadist's body, who was standing with his arms crossed over his chest. He extended a hand, and Pete was too apathetic to refuse it. If he didn't have Jimmy watching over him, he didn't have any room to disobey the intimidating male.

He was led to Gary's room and the older teen didn't bother with formalities. The moment they were out of sight from whoever might have been lurking in the halls, Gary was yanking on the dainty male's shirt, tugging it over his head. Pete was numb, not particularly keen on letting the scarred male have his way, but he was too tired to deny him. The lack of challenge was completely ignored by the sexually frustrated sadist, who was fumbling with the smaller boy's pants with shamelessly unsatisfied motions.

"Are your feelings hurt, little Petey?" Gary asked with a mocking tone, snaking a hand into the other teen's pants as he backed him into his desk, the only neat thing in his room.

"Get on with it." The dainty male replied curtly, using his arms to pull himself onto the large piece of furniture.

It was so tall that his legs hung from it, and Gary stood between the parted knees, grinning with his mouth inches away from Peter's. He blinked slowly, Pete wrapping his arms around broad shoulders and resolving to let Gary fuck away all of his tension, not caring how much he still hurt from the night before. He moaned aloud when there were rough, familiar fingers around him.

"You need to shut up." Gary growled, their gazes meeting, and Pete scoffed at him with angry defiance.

There was a moment of stillness before Gary yanked the smaller male's legs forward, Peter's head hitting the wall behind him with dizzying force. His pants were tugged downwards, the article of clothing crumpled to join the other things strewn along the floor, Gary working at the button of his own pants. He had an angry scowl on his face, Pete barely able to see it through the haze of pain and need.

"You are my property." The older of the two purred out.

Peter hated that he so rarely saw the other male undressed. Pete was almost always exposed, naked before prying eyes, when the most he had seen of Gary was his bare chest. He wasn't going to ask about it, not when there were sharp orbs boring into his own, challenging him right back.

Everything went away when he was with Gary, though. It was strange, how he melted and forgot his problems. Of course, the dainty male knew that afterwards, it would be back, that he would be haunted by arousal he didn't want and compassion that was breaking him down piece by piece.

When there was a rough hand wrapped around his pulsating arousal, there was no torture. When there was something hot pressed against his entrance, there was no guilt. When the mixing noises of grunts and whimpers filled the air, there were no consequences. Just him and Gary, locked together in their battle for control, Pete just trying to understand where his ravenous lust came from, Gary enjoying the fight he always seemed to put up, even if admitting it made his stomach churn.

"Tell me how much you want it." Gary managed breathily, Pete clawing frantically at the desk under him, the other male refusing to move against him.

He tried to push forward, but there were solid hands shoving his hips into the wood, nothing but painful fullness clouding his senses. He looked at the face of his tormentor, who was staring back at him with a smug smile. He nodded expectantly, and Peter grunted low in his throat, throbbing with need.

"A lot." The dainty male replied with half-hearted desperation.

"Say please." There was something sing-song in his infuriatingly apathetic tone.

"P-please."

"Please what?"

"Goddammit, Gary, fuck me!" He had to grit his teeth to avoid shouting.

"Since you asked so nicely…" There were powerful hips smashing forward, the dreadful feeling of being torn apart flooding the dainty male's body.

He half wished that he had kept his mouth shut, but when the older teen moved into him again, every sliver of agony was transformed into thrill, and he pressed into it. His hands were shoved against the wall, keeping his head from colliding with it when he was thrust into and using it to push the sadist deeper, harder.

Gary pulled the other teen's legs around his hips, then onto his shoulders, using his thighs as leverage. There were claw marks on the already-abused flesh, scratches and would-be bruises on the pale skin. Pete arched and bore and squirmed, every thrust smashing into his prostate.

"Gar-I-could you…" He moaned out breathily, incapable of voicing anything when he was pounded into so mercilessly.

Gary, who was grinning wildly down at his victim, stroked him roughly, managing a ragged groan. His hand matched the pace of his hips, and Pete was falling quickly into oblivion, bucking against every bit of attention. When he was close – so, so close – there were fingers pinching the tip and preventing his climax.

"I think two should be a limit." Gary managed with a breathy laugh, grunting when Peter tightened almost painfully around him.

The dainty male fell slack against the older teen's desk, the only sign of life his breathing, which was labored and quick. Gary growled an intimidating noise, the smaller teen making a small noise when he rammed into him particularly roughly. Gary began stroking him, and the throbbing pain was overcoming, Peter forgetting his denial to dig his heels into the other male's shoulders. He arched again; mouth open with chocked-back agony, then huffed loudly.

Gary was close. The shameless display before him, Peter writhing with so much torment that every downward glance drove him a little further into rapture, was dreadfully appealing. He released his grip on the throbbing thing he held onto, pumping quickly and thrusting with so much force that the desk thumped noisily on the wall. The dainty male came onto the other teen's hand, the sadist following immediately after, pulling away and flopping into his chair with a satisfied huff.


	18. It's Not Okay

It's Not Okay

[A/N: My roommate demands that we keep the apartment unbelievably cold all the time. Saves on the gas bill, but damn is it freezing in here. I've got my letterman on [which is a rather bulky jacket] and gloves and a scarf and even leggings under by jeans but I'm still shivering. She's walking around in some freakin' basketball shorts and a t-shirt. The sad thing is, she's probably the best non-relative roommate I've ever had.

On the plot side of things: what's she gonna do? Oh noes!]

Pete was early to Art class again, lingering silently in the doorway. The teacher seemed refreshed somehow, a faint smile on her painted lips. She looked up at the worn teen with a more prominent grin, beckoning him into her classroom with something a bit more chipper than she usually emanated. The dainty male was guilty for having to be the one to ruin her good mood.

"I have a question…" Pete tried tentatively, and Mrs. Phillips nodded, giving him her full attention.

"What – by law – constitutes… Rape?" There was something so broken in his tone that her smile dropped, and she furrowed her eyebrows.

"Well…" She wracked her mind, both for an answer to his question and for the reasoning behind him asking it.

"Any unwanted sexual contact, I suppose." The teacher finally stated, smiling weakly up at the dainty male who was staring with unbroken intensity at one of the papers on her desk.

"Why?"

"Just curious." It was a blatant, unconvincing lie.

"I don't believe you. If someone is hurting you, you have to tell me. Please, Peter, what is going on?"

_No, stop talking. You shouldn't have spoken to her in the first place._ He looked up at her with a silent plea for help in his dark eyes, discolored from stress and battery.

"If – hypothetically – there was someone…" He stopped mid-sentence.

_Hypothetically? Really? Just tell her; the rest will fall into place._ He rocked on his heels nervously, shame apparent on his features, as torn as ever. He was dreadfully afraid, both of admitting and of the person he was about to tell on.

"What would happen to them if-" There was something trapping his voice in his throat, like someone had stuffed another sock into his mouth.

"They would be prosecuted and put away, naturally. Who is it? Is someone hurting you?" Mrs. Phillips sounded desperate and pleading.

"What if I… I just… I want it to stop, but sometimes it's…" He had to lean on the desk to keep from falling to the floor.

Every time there was a sliver of rational thought, the other voice would chime in with such a good argument. He was too smart for his own good, battling it out sub-consciously, trying his best to break free of the burning hands of his psyche. He thought that if he moved the responsibility to someone else, he wouldn't feel as much pain, he wouldn't have to deal with the fighting noises in his brain or the consequences of admittance.

"Is it possible to love and hate someone at the same time?" He didn't know where that came from, finally finding the courage to look up from the desk he was also holding on to with white knuckles.

Mrs. Phillips stared back at him, mouth opened as though she was about to say something, but nothing but a strangled noise left it. She looked down, at nothing in particular, then back up at the torn male, huffing with confusion again. Usually, the children she taught came to her with silly little problems. She had dealt with the occasional bully victim courageous enough to come forward, and emotionally torn girls, but never something as serious as this.

Rape was something that children shouldn't have had to deal with, something that wasn't real to her, inconceivable. She glanced up at the brown eyes that stared back at her with something broken, like a hurt animal. The terrifying thing was that it was so clear to her, then. The limp, prominent then fading then prominent again, the bruises just barely covered by a shirt that was always buttoned higher than was necessary, and the distant way he seemed to scream on the inside whenever he tried to tell her. How could she know, though? It wasn't as though the first thought she had when looking at a tired teenager with bruises was indescribably shattering abuse. She cursed herself internally for ignoring the little voice she should have listened to more often.

"Pete, who is it? Tell me, _please._"

"He'll kill me if I tell you." There was something dreadfully serious on the small teen's face, and he lost the puppy-dog eyes suddenly, stuffing the tears that stung at his temples into the back of his mind.

"We can protect you, the authorities, they can-"

"You don't understand. _He'll. Kill. Me._" It was true, but it wasn't the real reason he refused to tell the teacher, he just wanted it to be.

"Peter, I can help you, we can-"  
"No!" He slammed his palms down on the desk, not understanding exactly where the little bout of rage had come from.

Mrs. Phillips jumped slightly at the sudden noise, an icy chill running up her spine. Pete was shivering, staring at the paper he had his eyes glued on before with ferocious intensity. It was a bad idea, he realized with shattering rage, a tear slipping down his nose and leaving a little circle on one of the papers below him.

"I can't tell you because…" He searched desperately for the words.

"I think I love him." He was sobbing, losing every bit of composure he had managed to maintain, the words pitiful and cracked.

She gasped aloud at his little confession, the teen clenching his fists so tightly his knuckles became white and the tendon of his wrist struggled against pale skin. Her hand reached for his tentatively, like if she moved too quickly he would shatter, and he didn't seem to notice the fleeting contact. A ragged sound left his mouth and his elbows gave out, the dainty male sinking into the fetal position on the cold floor. Mrs. Phillips immediately stood and rounded the desk, kneeling beside him and patting his shoulders while he groaned out an agonized noise.

"I-I'm so confused. I'm not supposed to feel this way, am I? What the fuck is wrong with me?" The sharp words were barely distinguishable between desperate gasps and sobs, the teacher holding his head to her chest with the kind of comfort her mother showed her as a small child.

"Hey, it's okay. It's okay."

_No, it isn't._


	19. Debt

Debt

[A/N: Gary's point of view, because I don't delve that much into it. I started it out thinking this fic was going to be entirely Gary-centric, but the shattering mind of poor 'lil Pete is much more interesting than a self-righteous sadist with neurotic egotism. And jeez is this thing looooong. When I was proofreading, I realized that I had written half of it in present tense, so please forgive any verb disagreement.]

It was nice that the nurse didn't ask questions. She was a bitch about it, but she popped Gary's nose back into place without so much as an inquiry as to how it was broken. That was about a week ago, and the sadist was in her office again to check his ribcage.

He had "borrowed" one of the greaser's bikes and was riding through the pleasant hills that the rich people lived in, passing by ornate building after ornate building. He glanced at one of the gates, wondering if he could hop it when a robust teen's fist had knocked him from the bike completely.

Gary was caught off guard, just as Bif had been days before, the champion boxer not even thinking to go easy on the scarred teen. In seconds the prep was on top of him, wailing on his chest with painful force. It seemed as though every time Gary got into a fight, his ribs were the first victims, and the gentle crack made even the prep stop suddenly.

The dark haired male gasped and fell limp against the asphalt, vision blanking out as though someone turned off the connection from his eyes to his brain. Bif was mumbling some sort of apology that strung together with panicked curses, but he was afraid of getting caught, so he left Gary in the middle of the street. He grumbled, his senses coming back to him through the fear and pain, and wondered how he was getting back to the school.

Just as he pressed his back against a vehicle and slid up against the fleeting support, a police car screeched to a stop. He was clad in his school uniform, and it was the middle of the day, so the cop hopped out to ask him what he was doing out of class. Gary held his side, his best Sunday smile playing on his lips, and he let the pain melt behind a polite mask.

"I was skipping, I admit, I just… Needed some air." Right, like he ever went to class.

"Okay, back to school, then."

_Problem solved_. Gary thought to himself as he nodded at the man opening the door for him. The cop was manipulated into driving him to the school, but not directly in front of it, letting the brunette slip in through one of the side entrances. He waved with another perfect smile, then started gingerly walking to the nurse's office.

"What is it this time, Smith?" She didn't have to look up from the papers she was reading over to know who it was.

"Ribs. Broken." He lost his façade and sat on the examination bed delicately, lifting his shirt without so much as an invitation.

"More rock climbing?" It was a little joke between them; the first injury – received in a fight that everybody knew about – was questioned, and that was the obvious lie Gary had told her.

"I'm quite the mountaineer." The scarred teen replied, laughing then grunting with agony at the way his chest expanded so suddenly.

She pressed along the now-swollen part of his chest, glancing up at him with unreadable eyes, then popped the unnaturally protruding bones back into place. Gary, who had a higher pain tolerance than he should have had, clenched his jaw and grunted out unhappily. His hands gripped onto the side of the bed he was sitting on, knuckles turned white with strain. After a moment of tender examination, the nurse returned to her work and ignored him completely.

He sat, heel tapping anxiously on the floor, filling the room with a gentle, ceaseless patter. He looked up at the nurse – someone with such a dreary outlook on life it was oddly refreshing – then back at his boots. Gary wondered absently where Peter would have been at that time of day, glancing at his wristwatch and clicking his tongue.

"See you later." He promised, and the woman only grunted in reply, the sadist leaving to let out some tension. After all, he wouldn't have had displaced ribs had Pete not needed to be rescued.

He stalked the halls, dipping out of sight seamlessly whenever a prefect peered around a corner, even with his damaged side, working his way towards the art room. Something told him that was where he would have been, but when he looked through the little window, his favorite hermit was nowhere to be found. Wracking his mind, he considered that he might have been mistaken, stuffing his hands into his front pockets and continuing down the hall.

The brunette gave up, distracted by the enticing prospect of playing the game in the boy's dorm, and whistled as he left the main school building. He had gym then, but they weren't expecting him, so he walked nonchalantly to the messy building labeled "boy's". He became eerily quiet then picked up his cheery tune again, a hop in his step. Things had been going his way recently; the weather was beginning to lighten, Jimmy's successes were fleeting, and the little victories with Petey always seemed to reestablish his self-confidence.

He yanked the door open with more force than was necessary, the thing smashing against the far wall, then whistled loudly down the halls. He wondered who was left in the dorm, if anybody, and if he would have the opportunity to show off his racing skills. When there was no reply to his abrasive noises, his grin dropped, and his feet clopped on the tile floors loudly. He glanced at his own room door, stopping suddenly and rounding on his heels.

There was a gentle noise from the slightly-ajar room on the other side of the dorm, and the sadist walked eagerly towards it. The hop was back in his step, and the grin was back to his lips, smirking at the prospect of finding a hidden treasure behind the broken door. Gary stared through the crack and caught Pete's form, hunched over a book.

The dainty male looked dreadfully tired. There were dark circles under his eyes and he was curled around the paper he was staring at almost protectively. Peter snapped up from his book when the door pseudo-closed behind the sadist, and he grinned down at him with a slick kind of joy.

"Why aren't you in class, eh, Petey?" Gary crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at him intensely, hiding his genuine curiosity behind spiteful taunting.

When there was no answer, the older of the two rounded the chair and stooped so that his chin was almost touching the other boy's shoulder. He glanced down at the book, not really interested in it enough to read, but Pete was shivering like a frightened child, his chest heaving with whatever emotion he felt when Gary was near. The sadist was amused by his reaction, letting out a tauntingly long breath, the air ghosting over the neck that was exposed because Pete had unbuttoned his pink shirt, intending on showering away some of his tensions later on.

Gary, still refusing to touch the dainty male, turned the page as though he cared to read it, and there was a whimper in the ear closest to the other teen's throat, the noise sending a shameless tingle up the back of his neck. He snaked his arms around Pete, lifting the book so that he could more clearly make out the words, and slipped his index finger under the next page.

"W-what are you doing?" Pete asked with a timid voice, filled with innocent wonder.

"Hush, faggot. This is an intense part."

At this, Pete scoffed, finding some of his strength and trying to wiggle his way out of the other teen's grasp. He knew that Gary was torturing him with closeness; he was reading from a textbook. He managed to turn towards the door, the chair on a swivel, but the strong arms around him held firm. Gary was grinning at him playfully, and he stood, hands on his hips. There was something expectant in his eyes, but Pete only seemed tired, like he didn't want to put up with the other male's games.

"Go away, please."

"You're so polite! Where does it come from? Is your daddy strict about manners?" He crossed his arms over his chest and stood his ground, a smug look on his face.

"I bet he is. Did you get time-outs as a child, or…" The dainty male averted his gaze and backed towards the door, red flooding his features.

"No, it couldn't be the paddle. You're such a glutton, you'd probably break the rules just to get whooped." Pete's lips tightened and he gave the floor a hurt look.

"Y-you're not supposed to be here."

"Just imagine that, you bent over with pops laying it on you. You'd be har-"

"Get out!"

Gary stopped his slow advance and his grin dropped, staring with disbelief at the loud defiance Pete was showing him. He said no often, so the sadist hadn't taken him seriously, but the icy shout surprised him. The blush was still furious on the other teen's face, and he was still staring intently at the floor, but his rigid muscles told Gary that he wasn't playing games. He would put up a fight, they both knew, and Gary laughed spitefully.

Suddenly, there was a fist wrapped up in Pete's shirt, smashing him into the broken door and lifting him off the ground. He was looked back at with fear-filled brown eyes, a gawking mouth forming apologies that fell onto ears deaf with rage. Gary looked away from the face he had an odd fascination with, then back again, roughly grabbing onto his jaw with the arm that wasn't holding him in place.

"You know what happened to me today? I had my ribs displaced. It was Bif; he attacked me when I was riding my bike. Do you know _why_ he attacked me?" Pete knew, but he shook his head anyways.

"Because I saved your sorry ass." Gary hissed the words out through clenched teeth, dropping Pete to collapse unsteadily against the door.

"I think you owe me."

Pete, who had just regained his balance, looked up at the stern, scarred face before him with a fear that Gary could practically taste, then straightened himself and regarded the floor with his usually submissive attitude. Gary could see the lust for power smoldering behind the façade, that Pete would have given anything for the kind of control he had over him, but Gary would never let him have it. Control was leverage, and leverage was power, which was hardly something that he was prepared to let go, especially to someone as effeminate as Pete.

"And because you're being a bitch, I might deny you _any_ orgasms." He was lying; forcing the other male into a state of bliss was just as thrilling as leaving marks to him.

"Don't do this, please. I-I…"

"You what?" Gary moved forward, trapping the smaller male between his body and the door.

Gary brushed his lips over the shivering teen's jaw and breathed out heated breath, goose bumps immediately growing on the skin of his neck. The sadist glanced at the reaction, waiting for a response that was trapped in the tension need between them, hand slowly moving down his clothed chest and towards the already growing arousal.

"C-can't – hngh – you're…" Neither of them knew what he was trying to say anymore, and Gary didn't care in the least, teeth meeting the skin of Pete's neck.

"If you're nice, I'll let you choose how I make you come. The first time, anyway."

"M-mouth."

Gary stopped sucking on one of the yellow bruises on Pete's neck to stare up at him with the same kind of surprise he had shown when he was shouted at. His hands, one of which was rubbing the dainty male through his pants, the other supporting him against the door, pulled away, and Pete looked at the wall to his side.

"What?" He had heard it correctly; he just couldn't believe that Pete had made a request other than "stop" or "more".

There was a tense silence, then a throaty laugh, Gary's shoulders shaking with amusement. He shook his head, unbuttoning Pete's pink dress shirt and continuing to laugh. When he looked at the sheer embarrassment painted on the smaller teen's face he couldn't help but snort and break into another fit of chuckles, sighing a few times to regain his composure. When the shirt was undone, he yanked it roughly from Pete's shoulders and stopped to admire the marked torso.

Pete found the courage to pry his gaze away from the wall and look at the sadist more directly. There was a sick grin on his features, and his eyes scanned his naked chest, the smaller teen lifting his arms from his sides and brushing oh-so-gently against Gary's own shirt.

"Where is this coming from?" Gary tried, laughter in his tone again.

Rough hands tugged on the hem of the fabric, Gary gingerly prying it over his head and hissing in annoyance at the sting in his side. There was a delicious look on the smaller teen's face; like a child looking at a new toy, surprised and in absolute awe. The sadist rolled his eyes and used his calloused fingers to undo the dainty male's pants, letting them fall into a heap around Pete's ankles. They were yanked over his shoes, Gary immediately attacking the dainty male's chest with his teeth.

There was a sharp pain that shot through Gary when his hair was yanked, and he groaned with satisfaction at the timid cruelty. Pete was learning subtle things about him; the sensitivity of his scars and the way he relished little bits abuse - like scratching and hair-pulling. It was somehow refreshing.

Gary's tongue met battered flesh, flicking over one of his bruises and resulting in a hushed moan. The sadist didn't care to find out what he liked, not when there was the prize of climax at the end of any kind of painful ministration. He looked up and met a lusty gaze, Pete snapping his head back up with embarrassment, whimpering loudly when there was hot breath tingling through his boxers.

"I must say, Petey, I'm flattered." He said breathily onto him, and the way his hips wiggled told him that every word was torture.

"If you liked it this much, you should have said something earlier." Gary tugged the underwear past strangely supple hips, lapping at the arousal teasingly and feeling the gentle buck of hips that Pete probably didn't realize he was doing.

There was a tightening in the fingers through his hair, and he pressed forward, tight lips encasing heat in a vacuum. There was heavy breathing above him, punctuated by a pitiful noise that sent a jolt of need right to the sadist's groin. He swallowed around the smaller teen and heard some strange, barely coherent semblance of his name. When Gary went down again, more fervent, he considered whether or not he would let his companion come in his mouth.

The action was demeaning, which was why Gary didn't enjoy the prospect, but Pete had actually _asked_ for it. He supposed that he should have respected the confident move, but was still repulsed by the very thought. There were hips moving rhythmically forward, and he smashed them into the door behind Pete to silently tell him to cool it, then he relaxed the back of his throat and lapped roughly against him.

"Gah-Sh-I'm c-close…" He heard a strained exclamation above him and glanced up to see pained features, totally void of any bit of denial or challenge, faltering to his will.

Gary shrugged, ending the little debate in his mind, feeling nails rake along his scalp. Pete gasped, shivering, the older teen bobbing quickly and ignoring the unpleasant taste that suddenly became prominent. Pete shuddered and groaned out a high-pitched whine, climaxing and immediately going slack. Gary was on his feet in seconds, catching a gaping mouth with his own and slipping his orgasm-covered tongue into the wet cavern before him.

Pete jerked and his eyes snapped open, fear mixing with the exhaustion and lust in his gaze. When he tasted it, he grunted unhappily and tried to push on a body much too strong to get away from, unable to clamp his mouth shut with spiteful fingers pressing his cheeks between his teeth. After a while of the forceful, one-sided kiss, Pete finally caved and lapped timidly back at Gary's tongue. The older of the two pulled away and spat onto the carpet.

"You're fucking disgusting, you know that?" The sadist said with a scowl, and the smaller teen averted his gaze with shame.

Gary, finding his own arousal hard to ignore, scanned the room for a proper place to release his frustration. He saw the desk but decided against it, the bed seeming too comfortable, then glanced back at his captive. There was a mortified guise on Pete's face and he looked as though he wanted to spit, too, but knew better, and Gary smirked at another little win.

The boxers around Peter's ankles were stepped on, and the older male lifted both of his legs so that they were wrapped around his hips. There was a contemplative look on Gary's face, his arousal ignoring that fact that he was still thinking, but everything melted away when Pete actually ground back onto him. He was hard, the sadist pondering where he had developed his stamina, grinning with thrill at the way he was gripping at the useless doorknob and walls to find something to grab onto.

There was a desperate look on his face when he whimpered at the lack of attention, Gary throbbing in his pants, and he huffed with exasperation. Awkwardly, he unzipped his trousers and shuffled them down just far enough, keeping the dainty male raised off the ground. He was light enough to lift without much strain at all, and he chuckled at how little muscle mass he actually had.

"How much do you weigh?" Gary asked, and Pete looked at him through half-lidded eyes with confusion.

"Huh?" He managed through a lust-haze, rubbing back against the now-still teen with just a hint of anger in his hazel eyes.

"How much do you weigh?" The sadist was careful to use slow words, like he was speaking to an idiot.

"O-one fifteen, I-I th-ah!" Gary didn't hesitate to shove into him roughly, cutting off his answer with his usual cruelty.

The sadist smashed against his prostate so forcefully it made Peter dizzy, barely able to push back on him with the pain that still resonated, locking his ankles and grabbing onto broad shoulders. The dainty male's nails met his fingertips with every thrust, scratching into damaged skin fervently. Gary pressed his forehead against the nape of the other teen's neck, using slow, meticulous motions because every move was met with an adorable little squeak.

The dainty male's arousal was flush against the older teen's stomach, brushing, but just barely, and he groaned aloud at the little bit of pleasing attention. Gary was too focused on holding him up to use his hand on the throbbing thing between pale thighs.

"G-Gary, th-ghn… Bed…" The smaller male managed, and he was wrenched immediately away from the door, landing with a creaking thud on his back.

Gary was in him again immediately, picking up the pace and digging his fingers into marked hips. The larger male's mind was dreadfully clear of everything, none of the senseless chatter to cloud his mission, none of the neurosis or little habitual obsessions to drive him downwards. Just him and Petey, who looked just as lost in need as he felt, tightening around him systematically because he grunted with thrill at the torture.

His vision blurred and the thighs that he was tugging on became tense in his hands, a crackling sound leaving the smaller teen's lips. He came, something hot against Gary's bare front, and the thought of driving him further into the chains of ownership, the thought that he had fucked Petey so brutally and he had loved it enough to climax brought him to the brink, everything turning bright for a split second.

He huffed over the dainty male, holding himself up by his arms, and pulled away from the limp form. His legs were shaking, but he ignored it and turned back to the heap of clothing on the otherwise spotless floor, searching with slowly adjusting eyes for his shirt. Pete was silent behind him, something dark hanging about his bruised body, and Gary turned so that the first clear thing he saw was him.

Right then, Pete was beautiful. Gary wanted to photograph it and hang it up on his bedroom wall to admire what he'd done to the dainty male. His legs were limp, hanging from the mattress with the occasional tremor, an almost unnoticeable spot of red where he had just been. Pete was staring at the ceiling with disbelief and horror painted on his features, as though he was trying to make sense of it all, and Gary stared into large brown eyes.

"So long, Pete." Gary saluted him informally after he had pulled his shirt over his head and went to leave.

"I hope you die." Pete snapped back tiredly, and Gary scoffed with amusement.


	20. Not a Dream

It's Not a Dream

[A/N: I'm a jealous brat sometimes. Pisses me off when I read another GaryxPetey fic that isn't poorly written. That's bad, isn't it?]

There was blood everywhere. Peter was in what looked like a church, painted crimson, the gore falling from the ornate ceiling with squishing noises. He felt himself retch at it, the smell enough to drive him from the calm he had been feeling just before. He tried to bring his hand to his mouth, something wet brushing his lips, and saw that the limb was nothing but a mutilated mess of flesh, the taunting white of bone shimmering under translucent mush.

_Pete, calm down, this is not real._ He was dreaming - he knew he was dreaming - so he closed his eyes tightly and opened them to see the same building, only clean. He needed to focus. Focus. Light shimmered in through the windows, moving colors dancing as though the sun was moving over the sky too quickly, as though time was shooting past him. There was a hunched form dressed in a priest's uniform, mumbling a prayer that didn't sound quite right.

Peter approached it, suddenly finding himself inches from the other person, outreached hand brushing over the back of its black jacket. This person was too tall to be human, stretching, turning in ways that should have snapped its spine. Its arms - slithering, rubber limbs - wrapped tightly around Pete's body, encasing him in a cocoon of monster. He blinked hard again, and when he opened his eyes, there was an expanse of autumn sky, grey with heavy clouds.

"This is wrong." He said, but there were several voices behind it, like his words were immediately spoken by a crowd.

Female, kind, rough, shy, all of them melting into one long, drawn-out noise, making his words incoherent. The sound was punctuated by a sharp voice, filled with rage and lust and dirty thoughts. The dainty male's head snapped to the side, finding himself on a patch of grass, sprawled out on a little island inside a sea of lapping water. It touched his sides, tingled on his fingertips, swallowed up his bare feet. The blue pajamas he had thrown away were sucked up into the water, tickling his skin where it tugged and pulled. He lifted his neck to get away from the fluid that was threatening to engulf him completely, stinging at his eyes with each little wave. He tasted salt, coughing it out and gasping through his nose, staring up at the sky that was reddening with a contrastingly beautiful sunset.

The dainty male sat up abruptly in bed. His nerves had saved him from whatever terrible fate his subconscious was determined to make him suffer, sighing with relief and tossing the blankets away. He went to shower away the unpleasant, sticky sweat that lingered from thrashing about under the covers, groping blindly at the darkness to find his way to the bathroom.

It was still the middle of the night, his clock telling him that it was a little after two, and though his body was screaming at every step, he needed to clear his head. Peter had been having nightmares, which weren't something he was used to, seeing as he could change his dreams if problems arose. Usually, he would turn a horrible happening into something melancholy or cheerful, but that night, every change in scenery forced him deeper into his base fears.

He thought it had something to do with the fact that he hadn't seen Gary in almost a month. It was refreshing after all of the tense meetings they had - the torture and fights - but Peter still found himself worrying about him. There were nights that he stared at the door, waiting for a tall figure to slip in and take away another piece of his sanity, other nights where he slept so peacefully he woke up angry at his alarm clock.

Things had become simpler, though. The shattered relationship he had with Jimmy mended after the third day without a sadist to torture the dainty teen, and he spent more time focusing on his grades. He was a star student again, managed to sleep restfully, and wasn't in constant agony. Mrs. Phillips, who he had confided in, noticed the change, and he told her that everything was much better, putting the poor woman at ease. Things were nice, he was happier with his everyday.

The only problem was his lust. Usually, he could suppress the need in the pit of his stomach, but it became dreadfully hard to ignore sometimes, forcing him to shower away his arousal. He refused to give in to his body, dreading every bout of mindless yearning. It was as though Gary had infected him with a crippling disease, like a part of him lingered in every fleeting moment that Pete didn't fill with distractions.

The warm water was wonderful for his tension, pattering on his skin and letting every unhealthy emotion slip down the drain. He sighed in the foggy room, lolling his head back and forth, warmth trailing down his back with familiar comfort. He pried his eyes open, blinking away some of the dizzying sleep, and looked down with a horrible realization.

He turned the water from pleasant to bitterly cold, turning towards the sputtering faucet and grunting unhappily. Pete's head was swimming with unpleasant thoughts, the dainty male trying his best to retain his logical mind. He thought of his grandmother, slugs, math, cough medicine, anything but _him_, but it wasn't working.

Finally, after the cold had become too agonizing to take, he turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. His physical reaction to lack-of-stimulation had gone away, but there was still an ache in the pit of his stomach. Drying himself off, he slipped into a clean set of pajamas - a large t-shirt and some loose pants that were red before some of the dye had washed away – and left the bathroom. Steam followed him out, and he stared at the slightly-ajar door of his room, light shimmering through it.

His feet were moving before he realized what was happening, and his hands pulled the door open against his will. The hallway, with the single bulb casting a dreary glow over everything, was dreadfully still, Peter stepping into it slowly. He moved with careful motions, as though doing something too quickly would cause the calm to shatter, and made his way to Gary's door.

He stopped, hand almost at the doorknob, then finally let his mind battle it out. There was one side of his brain telling him to turn around and go back to sleep, another screaming for him to keep going, much louder than the other - and more logical - voice. He suddenly realized that Gary might have locked the door, that he might not even be there, so he resolved to let his chances decide.

Pale fingers wrapped around cold metal, turning and hoping that the lock would stop his motions, but it didn't. The door swung open and he stared into the pitch-black room, breath caught in his throat. He searched for Gary, scanning around in the impenetrable darkness without much luck. Peter's feet were driving him forward oh-so-slowly, and he was in the usually frigid place suddenly, the door swinging silently behind him.

There was a click that vibrated in Pete's head, prickling his nerves, then there were sharp eyes glaring at him from a bundle of blankets on the bed. They took on an almost animal quality, shimmering with the little bit of light that Pete was slowly adjusting to. They were wide open, letting in as much of the image as possible, everything thick with tense silence.

Peter was stuck in place. His muscles were rigid, every nerve in his body protesting against his fear. There was the sound of crumpling blankets and a creaking mattress, the other teen slow with predatory danger, moving into a sitting position. The dainty male's eyes were locked onto his, trapped like a deer in headlights, the blood making his ears pound.

"Petey?" Gary sounded sleepy but still intimidating somehow.

He was standing, the smaller male jumping at the sudden motion, arms wrapping around his torso for protection. Gary moved tediously in Peter's direction, hazel eyes darting about with panic, a hand suddenly brushing over his arm, above his elbow. He was suddenly yanked forward, toppling to the floor and scrambling against the bed. His arms supported him, keeping the frail teen from hitting the messy ground, quickly pulling himself into a standing position. There was a hand on the back of his head, shoving him forward and into the mattress, flailing about with panic.

There were teeth on the back of Pete's neck, digging in, and Peter moved more fervently, trying to push Gary away. The sadist's hands wrapped tightly around thin wrists, holding them against the bed and pressing his body against the smaller male's back.

"Ghn… Gar – s-stop!" Peter managed, squirming uselessly at the hands and body holding him almost painfully in place.

Gary suddenly stopped, a gentle hum in his throat, and he released the teen that had been writhing away from him. His arms fell limp at his sides and Pete scrambled up again, standing and turning towards his attacker. Gary was shirtless, plaid pants hanging onto his hips by a grey drawstring, one of his hands resting on his forehead. From what Pete could make out of his face, he was pained and sleepy, glancing back up at Pete with his sharp eyes.

"I'm not dreaming, am I?" He said with a slight murmur, and Peter gawked with confusion.

"I - n-no." The dainty male replied.

"Oh…"

He crawled back into bed, pulling the blankets over his form again and staring up at Peter expectantly. The dainty male didn't know what to do, shifting in his spot awkwardly as he was stared down. Gary was unmoving with his resolve, but he neither demanded that he leave nor come closer, the smaller male torn.

Pete realized that there was a throbbing in the back of his mind, a tingle in the bite mark Gary had left, the kind of need that had been following him around for the last month, taking in the delicious scent of his favorite torturer. Gary didn't seem to care what he did, blinking slowly and pulling the sheets over his head, nothing but piercing eyes glaring him down.

Pete's heart was in his throat, but he tugged gently on the blankets regardless, and Gary's arm shot upwards as though he had been waiting for it, the dainty male staring into the inviting cavern of blankets and Gary. He slid into the sadist's grasp, facing him and staring with wide eyes back at the glare he was getting.

The smaller male had to hold back a frightened yelp when there were lips on his shoulder, teeth raking through the fabric, rough hands pulling at his shirt. He moved awkwardly, letting Gary tug the spiteful fabric off of his then-shaking body, led to press against Gary's bare chest. Pete was moved up, the other teen ducking under the covers, a tongue lapping at his naked front. He laced his fingers through dark hair, letting the knee that was pushing between his thighs brush against him.

"Wh-where have you been?" Peter managed, letting out a pained noise when there were teeth on a nipple.

Gary ground against the smaller teen's thigh, yanking Pete into a more upright position. The dainty male immediately swung his leg so that he was moving directly on Gary's growing arousal, the blanket falling from them both. The younger male rolled his hips, nails digging into the scarred expanse of flesh before him, both of them breathing heavily.

"Y-you're not g-going to answer my question, a-are you?" Gary replied by flipping them and thrusting forcefully forward.

His teeth were on Pete's neck again, a tongue flicking out to meet abused skin. The smaller teen mewled a little too loudly, brushing his hands over the sadist's back and feeling the gentle bump of scars. Gary pulled away suddenly, tugging at the pink pants around Peter's waist, and there was a timid patter on the little table beside his bed.

"What? I thought you liked it rough." It was pitiful compared to some of the insults the older teen had thrown at him before, but he leaned forward almost precariously and rummaged through the drawer.

A sigh of relief escaped Pete's lips when he saw the little blue bottle, closing his eyes and letting some of his tension slacken. The cold hit the throbbing thing between his thighs, then there was something hot and slick against his entrance, pushing slowly inside.

"Have you gotten tighter?" Gary asked in a hushed, strained voice before pulling back and forcing forward again roughly.

Pete clawed at the chest before him, pulling on broad shoulders and tightening his legs around slender hips. He was rammed into again, nothing but a gentle ache and delight meeting his senses, a hand wrapped around his length. The rough fingers were slick from the lubricant, tugging on him with none of the calloused friction it usually had, making Peter arch against it desperately.

"Do you like that, Petey?" Gary's voice was husky and hot in his ear.

"Getting taken by another boy…" He slowed his motions to drive his point home.

"On your back, scratching and moaning like something out of a cheap porno…"

"Sh-shut up…" Pete tried desperately, every word sending a shock of arousal through him.

"You're so hard, Petey. Tell me you love it. Tell me how much of a whore you really are."

"N-n – ghn… No…"

Every delicious motion suddenly stopped, and light brown eyes met deep, menacing ones. Gary stared down at him with a dangerous glare. Pete pried his gaze away and tried to move back against the thing that was resting infuriatingly still against his prostate, but his hips were shoved into the bed, two calloused hands digging into the sensitive bones.

"Did it sound like a _request_?" The sadist's words stung.

"G-Gary, please."

"No. I want to hear you beg. Use my name, too. Be shameless." He was asking for something other than their usual banter of insults and pleas.

Pete stared back up into wonderfully enticing eyes, quickly losing his resolve in his throbbing arousal and the fact that Gary looked as though he could hold out all night, brushing against his prostate, keeping the agony of need going. The thought sent a rush of pleasure through the writhing teen, making him gasp when the sudden jerk made Gary rub against the pulsating nerve.

"I'm waiting."

"I-I need it. P-please, Gary, please." He felt so ashamed, falling slack against the bed under him.

Gary scowled, contemplated, then shrugged, thrusting in with quick, painful motions. They were back in the haze of sex, clawing at each other brutally. Pete found himself dreadfully close, twitching and groaning a bit too loudly, Gary relishing the noise. The little bit of sleepiness had washed away completely, and the sadist bore into his victim with a clear mind and strong motions, slickened hand returning to Pete's arousal.

Peter arched off of the bed, changing the angle just enough to make the last bit of pain slip away, and climaxed with weeks of pent-up aggression on Gary's chest. There were another few agonizing motions before the painful heat was gone, and there was a rotating finger in the smaller teen's face. The dainty male awkwardly turned onto his side, yanked upwards by his hips, then was driven into again.

He bit into the older boy's pillow, pushing back against the delicious friction fervently before there was a ragged breath on the back of his neck and slow, drawn-out motions. The sadist was pumping him at the same pace of his hips, increasing the forcefulness, and they both came in unison.

Gary rocked above the male, gasping for breath, before there were rough hands pushing him from the bed, not even allowing him to recover from his orgasms. Peter stumbled and hit the ground, falling to his knees. There were articles of clothing landing on his back, sinking into crumpled heaps onto the floor, and the dainty male eyed them with disbelief.

"I'm expecting company. Can't have you lingering around like some sort of fetishist." Gary explained when he saw the confusion painted on still-flushed features.

Pete gawked back at him, searching for something to say.

"Wha-who?"

"If you _must_ know, a girl."


	21. Leather Jacket

Leather Jacket

[A/N: Okay, fangirls/boys, don't shoot me for bringing in a female. Females exist, you know, and I thought it would be nice to have a fight that a normal couple would have between the two of 'em. Petey and Gary, that is, not Gary and Lola. She's just an easy little plot device. Hah, get it? Easy?]

Lola smelled like what Gary would have assumed a prostitute smelled like. Vanilla and strawberries, only the cheap, sickly-sweet kind of smell, like candy. She slipped into his room quietly, wearing a mischievous grin, a much-too-tight t-shirt, and shorts that didn't make sense with the lingering chill of early spring. She pulled her leather jacket from her shoulders and Gary watched as she rocked her hips in a lurid way, biting her bottom lip.

Gary ran his hand through his hair and sat up with a kind of pseudo-sleepiness, beckoning the girl towards him nonchalantly. Glancing at the locked door, she giggled gently and pressed her front against the sadist, trailing her hands down his neck and to his bare chest. The glint in her eyes made Gary hate her, the thick smell of the perfume she must have bathed in filling his lungs with suffocating tightness.

He pulled her supple hips towards him and ran his mouth over her exposed collarbone, another giggle escaping thick lips. They looked sticky, like she had been eating something greasy and pink, shimmering in the dim light strangely. Lola made a noise that was too high pitched when his hand cupped a breast, the other hand slipping up her shirt, and she had manicured fingers on his chin, pulling it upwards.

The auburn-haired female brushed her thick, sticky lips fleetingly against his, and Gary's half-lidded eyes snapped open. He grabbed her arms and pushed her away from him, the gentle taste of fake cherry flooding his senses, so unlike the flavor of blood and sweat and fear that he was accustomed to. His dark eyes glared at the floor, and she wrenched her arms away from the scarred teen, rubbing her wrists with an offended look.

"What the Hell was that?" She snapped, and he turned his gaze back to hers.

There was something so dangerous in the way he glared, something that made the scar across his forehead look even more menacing, that made his body seem to grow. She gasped aloud, stepping backwards in ridiculously painful-looking heels, and almost stumbled on the desk behind her. He was like power incarnate, looking at the locked door and sighing with something sarcastic behind the exasperation.

"On second thought, I don't think I want herpes." Gary said, and there was a palm propelled at his face.

She fumed at him, the slap echoing in the room and making Gary chuckle gently. She stormed to the door, tugging on it with bitter rage, gasping with embarrassed horror when it jiggled in her grasp. Looking over her shoulder at the sharp smirk she was getting, she finally managed to turn the lock, stomping away with the clip-clop of heels on tile.

Lola had forgotten her jacket. It was leaving the unpleasant, hooker-like smell in Gary's room, so he stood, grabbed it up, and left his living space. As he stalked after the manic noise of the retreating female, he stopped suddenly at a desperate, choked-back noise. He was right next to Peter's room, looking through the gap and into darkness.

Pete was crying, rocking on his bed with a childish kind of hiccup, sucking in air too quickly and holding onto his arms with the semblance of a comforting hug. Gary slid silently into the room, leaning coldly against the wall as the dainty male hyperventilated before him. The sadist glanced down at the jacket in his grasp, having almost completely forgotten that it was in his possession, then stepped towards Pete, who had his back to the doorway.

Gary's hands, one on the inside of each shoulder of the jacket, pulled it over the shivering teen's shoulders, Peter gasping and snapping his head up. He looked at the leather jacket that he vaguely recognized, then over his shoulder at the sadist, who had an unreadable expression on his face. Pete's hand grabbed onto the collar of the coat, keeping it from falling off of his form, and wiped his tears away on his arm.

"What is this?" Pete eyed the jacket again, then shuffled to look at Gary less awkwardly.

"I decided against it." The older teen was leaning against the wall again.

"W-what?"

"The girl. I didn't screw her."

Peter was silent, eyebrows furrowed.

"You can stop crying." Gary spoke as though things really worked that way.

"W-who was it?"

"Lola."

"You need to get tested." Pete threw the jacket at the scarred male like it was poisonous.

"We didn't do anything!" Gary proclaimed with a growl, catching the jacket.

"You know what, fine, wallow in your self-pity. Just know that I refused her because of you." He snapped, letting the leather fall to the floor and slipping away.


	22. Happy Birthday, Peter

Happy Birthday, Petey

[A/N: There's underage drinking and peer-pressure in this chapter. I support neither of these actions, it's just artistic, I donno, freedom? Remember, kids, drugs are bad. M'kay? The next chapter will have plot, promise! Just realized that this chapter has nothing to do with last chapter's plot, but who cares? I mean, really?]

"Happy birthday, Petey." Jimmy patted him on the back, and the smaller male flinched, glancing up from the floor he had his face turned towards.

"Wha – it's not my birthday." The larger male eyed him wearily.

"I got you something anyway. When is your birthday?" Jimmy handed him a little box wrapped in printer paper and bound with scotch tape.

"It's not until-"

"How old are you today, eh femme-boy?" There was an arm draped around the dainty male's shoulder and he was yanked away from Jimmy suddenly.

"Get off." Pete squirmed out from under the spiteful grasp.

"The same age as yesterday." He eyed the scarred teen bitterly.

"Don't be like that, pink shirt. I got you something." The smaller of the two looked him up and down, but saw no evidence of a present.

"You've never given me a present." He relied defensively, with a hint of wonder.

"Have too."

"A dead rat doesn't count, Gary."

"It was _taxidermy_. I honestly thought you'd appreciate it." He had his arm draped over the smaller teen's shoulder again, this time a bit more forceful, and Pete couldn't wiggle out of his grasp.

"I have class. Let go."

"Correction, you have English. He won't notice you're even gone."

"He's sober, you know."

"Yeah, and I'm the Virgin Mary. Come along, birthday girl."

Gary guided the pink-clad male right out of the building; Jimmy left wondering if he should go after them or stay out of it completely. Sighing, the bulky teen went to class, shaking his head with muted dismay.

The sadist half-led-half-dragged the other teen towards the front gate, intent on leaving campus regardless of his protests. When they were on the semi-busy street, Gary motioned for Pete to stop, waited, then stuck his muscular arm out, catching a nerd who was riding his bicycle a bit too fast. With a fluid motion, the older male caught the runaway vehicle, mounting the bike and beckoning Pete to him. Because the grin on his face was so void of malice, the dainty male sighed and stepped on the extended bars set up for someone else to stand on, wrapping his arms around Gary's chest and forcing his face into his back.

There was a chuckle, then a warning to hold on tight before they were propelled forward much too quickly. Pete yelped into the fabric of Gary's sweater vest and realized half-heartedly that he still had Jimmy's gift held tightly in his hand. He held onto it – and Gary – for dear life, every muscle but his thighs dreadfully tense.

Gary didn't go slowly or avoid the bumps along the muddy path they biked down, Pete making little noises at every rough jolt, repeating a plea for help in his mind over and over again. He realized that if he fell off at the speed they were going, he would probably break his jaw on the back tire or something just as unpleasant, tightening his grip on his kidnapper. There was an unhappy grunt, and he loosened, realizing he was squeezing Gary's diaphragm.

After what seemed to the smaller teen like hours of painful standing, they were wrenched to a stop, Pete hopping from the bike with relief. He looked down at the present, crumpled by the vice grip he had been holding onto it with, and tore the makeshift wrapping open with childish joy. He didn't notice the other male walking without him, leaving the paper on the muddy ground. It was a watch, simple and probably cheap, but his old wristwatch - practically falling apart - didn't work very well after all of the abuse it had suffered.

Pete pulled the old accessory off of his arm, grinning up at the lack of Gary, before he huffed and followed after the retreating form. He wiggled his dainty hand into the new thing, jogging to catch up with the sadist and practically shoving it into his face. It got him a glare, like a frustrated adult silently scolding a misbehaving child, and Pete slackened, frowning at the ground.

"It's from Jimmy. I needed a new watch…" He mumbled, and Gary grunted with a muted kind of jealousy.

They were in the industrial part of town, the unpleasant factory smell wafting to their noses. Pete scowled and suddenly felt wary of the sharp glares he was getting from the people around him. He had to resist the urge to grab onto Gary's arm like some kind of damsel in a bad eighties movie, shifting his gaze up to the other male's. The sadist was staring straight forward, his lips a thin, serious line, but there was the glint of joy in his sharp eyes.

Suddenly, Peter felt more at ease, slackening and walking with an almost unnoticeable hop in his step, following after the person who had dragged him there in the first place like a puppy. They went from the street to a trailer park, Gary knocking loudly on one of the makeshift houses. The ease that Pete had been feeling suddenly went away, and he moved closer to the intimidating male.

A man with a trailer-park beard and apathetic eyes opened the door, giving a smile that was almost hidden by his mustache when he saw that it was Gary. The stranger's gaze trailed down, icy blue orbs meeting frightened hazel ones, and Pete suddenly felt like a child cowering behind its older brother.

"Come on in, Smith." Gary had to lead the now-shivering teen into the living room.

There was the gentle smell of something sour, like the aroma of cockroaches hidden in crevices, and a girl stared blankly at the television, slack on an ugly couch. The dainty male wanted to leave. He wanted to run out of there screaming, but he was shoved into an oddly comfortable chair with Gary's rough hands on his shoulders.

"You'll have to excuse him." The older teen said to the man who crossed his arms over his chest.

"A friend of Smith is a friend of mine." The stranger practically barked out, his tone not at all reflecting his words.

"It's his birthday. Thought I'd show him a good time."

"It's not my-"

"Shut up, femme-boy."

"You came to the right place, then." There was a cold bottle in the sadist's hand, and he moved it so that the lid was against the battered counter, popping it off with a sharp pound.

He slipped the cap into his back pocket, then handed the now-open beer to the stranger, who took it with a grin. He was handed another three, walking into Pete's view of the television to offer it to the girl, and she woke from her death-like state, suddenly chipper and alert. He took a swig of his own bottle, extending his hand to the frightened boy, and Pete eyed it with disbelief.

"I-I don't drink." He said with a small voice, sinking a little bit more into the chair under him.

"You do now." Gary snapped, his bottom lip still hanging from the bottle.

With tedious motions, Peter took the bottle, turning the frigid glass around in his hand like it might shatter and drench him in alcohol if he moved too quickly. The smaller male glanced up at Gary, who had taken another swig but was still glaring down at him expectantly. Timidly, Pete pulled the bottle to his nose, face souring immediately at the aroma, then, feeling as though Gary's eyes were stabbing into him, he took a drink. Coughing, he keeled over in his chair, but he had swallowed worse, so he choked the fluid down.

"There you go! Rick, do you have anything that doesn't taste like, y'know, booze?"

"I've got a couple bitch beers." He replied, and Gary took the bottle from the dainty male with a look of proud satisfaction.

"You're a terrible influence." Peter mumbled under his breath, and Gary shot him a grin.

"That all you got, little Petey? Come on, you can do better than that." He brought a yellow bottle to him, and Pete took it, letting the new drink settle between his knees on the chair.

Gary leaned so that he was sitting on the arm of the large, satin-coated piece of furniture, his khaki pants matching the material, and the stranger who had offered them the drinks slipped silently into another room, leaving them and the other female alone with their thoughts. Gary was slowly shuffling onto the chair that could probably hold them both comfortably, and Pete was shuffling away from the contact nervously.

"Are you having a good birthday so far?"

"For the last time, it's not my birthday!" Pete had his side shoved into the other armrest, and Gary was turned awkwardly to face him, much too close.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear femme-boy, happy birthday to you!" He seemed chipper, and Pete was worried it had something to do with the half-empty bottle hanging precariously from his thumb and forefinger.

"Drink up! We need to celebrate!" The dainty male eyed his drink, scowling at the memory of the horrid taste of the beer, but brought it to his lips anyway.

To his surprise, the first thing that hit his senses was a pleasant tartness, followed by an almost syrupy sweet, and he furrowed his eyebrows. Looking back up to Gary, who turned his head to take another poisonous swig, he questioned with his eyes.

"It's pretty tasty, huh?"

"Is this even alcoholic?"

"Would you chug it if I said no?"

Peter scowled back at him, not realizing he had taken another drink, then glanced at the female on the couch. Her gaze was locked on the court show, as though it was the most enticing bit of information she had ever seen, lost in a haze. Pete squirmed further away from the sadist, not wanting this strange person to find out about _them_ - whatever "them" was. He looked pleadingly up at Gary when one of his legs swung onto Peter's lap with the largest eyes he could muster.

"Her? Really? You're worried about her?" Gary snorted, drinking then motioning to the woman on the couch.

"She's strung-out." He said with a half smirk, grinning down at his captive again.

"Y-you mean drugs?" Peter eyed her slack form with disbelief.

"No, I mean cucumbers." Gary replied sarcastically, flicking Peter's bottle with his nail, making a sharp sound ring from it.

Pete took the hint and drank an entire mouthful, eyes locked on the female across from them. She pried her gaze away from the television and watched them with this distant kind of air, Pete sinking unconsciously into the form beside him. He drank again and felt shifting beside him, an empty beer set on the floor beside them.

Gary grunted and pulled Pete by his chin to face him, lips ghosting over the younger teen's mouth. There was growing warmth in the dainty male's body, and he kissed back regardless of the fear that had been rushing through him before. When he tilted his head and opened him mouth, his senses were flooded with a bitter taste, but Gary had his chin in a vice grip, keeping him from pulling away. He swallowed and made a guttural sound when he was finally released, shaking with a shiver that rushed suddenly through him.

"You're a jerk." Pete said, head swimming with something unbelievably pleasant.

"No, you." There was an audible slur in the older teen's voice, and there were warm hands tugging on the smaller male's shirt.

"What was that?"

"Vodka."

"My throat burns. Your eyes are beautiful." Pete had no idea why he was talking, wanting nothing more than to shut his mouth, but it was as though the floodgates to his inner mind had been smashed down.

"And I like the way you smell." _Shut up, Peter._

"Compliment me s'more." Gary had his entire face nestled into the smaller teen's neck, sending fiery tingles through the other boy's body.

"You're so confident. How does that work?" There were pale fingers knotted in dark hair, the dainty male staring blankly into space, face hot with intoxication and embarrassment. He took a drink from the bottle still resting in his hand.

"I like that you wear pink. You'd look pretty in a dress."

"Really think so?" Pete said with genuine wonder even though he wanted to snap at him for the insult.

"Yeah. Big and poofy." Gary made an exaggerated motion with his hand, turning again to run his tongue over the smaller male's throat.

"I like your scars." Pete looked down at the brunette awkwardly, unconsciously blocking Gary from his treat.

"I know." There was a goofy grin on the sadist's lips, teeth showing.

Gary moved his hand to the dainty male's thigh, brushing over the sensitive skin that seemed to soak in every touch like a sponge. He squirmed against it, forgetting the fact that they were in a strange house with strange people, drinking strange things. Gary straddled his lap, moving the bottle to Pete's lips again and watching as a splash of it slid down his neck.

Immediately, the older of the two licked it away, kissing his companion with an alcohol tongue. Pete practically melted into his mouth, both of them huffing through their noses, a pair of hazel eyes fluttering closed. There was an unbelievable rush that went through the smaller boy, gasping raggedly into the mouth he was battling with.

"I didn't know you leaned that way, Gary." There was a gentle voice behind them, and Pete wiggled with panic, trying to push the drunk teen off of him.

"I don't. I lean whichever was is easiest." The last word was purred out, and Pete was practically thrashing about.

"Gary, Christ, g-get off." Even though there was a protest between his thighs, the dainty male couldn't take the thought of being ravished in front of a stranger.

"I told you not to mind her." Gary growled playfully, rocking against the smaller teen, who gasped aloud and scratched uselessly on his chest.

"He's such a little bitch." The older male said over his shoulder, and she gave him a suggestive yet barely present chuckle.

There was a bottle shoved in Pete's face and he scowled, but there was a nagging voice in the back of his mind telling him that this would happen whether he liked it or not. Gary was grinding with more purpose, and he took the yellowish fluid, gulping once, recovering, then gulping again. He might as well enjoy it.

"If you really want, we can go somewhere more private."

Pete flushed, glanced over at the female who was watching them with a dead kind of blankness, then nodded up at Gary with a motion that made the room spin. The sadist grinned and rolled off of him, their legs still tangled with a kind of caring closeness he didn't show very often. He took a swig of the clear fluid, offering it to the other boy.

The dainty male eyed it for a moment, glancing at his half-empty bottle, then chugged the pleasant, fruity fluid down, wiping his mouth messily on his sleeve. He grinned up at Gary, forgetting the presence of the stranger again, and trailed his index finger down his chest. He yearned for the dorms, the room that smelled like the older teen, to become tangled in sheets and limbs and passion.

"Happy birthday to me…" Pete mumbled dreamily, hitting the back of the chair and letting it engulf him.

The younger of the two was lost in booze, nothing but hot touch and giggling, led suddenly into a standing position. His vision swam and his head felt as though it was lighter than his body, making him wobble with every step. He didn't realize how they had gotten there, but they were in the back of a car, Gary rocking against him and attacking his neck with his lips. When there was a particularly rough turn, they were propelled in one direction or another, thumping against the door of the car and breaking into fits of raucous laughter.

The vehicle they were in - driven by Gary's alcoholic friend – was cramped and messy, but neither of them seemed to notice it one bit. They were too enveloped in foreplay to even notice the screech of brakes than needed new fluid, or the slightly amused shout they got from their chauffeur. There was a shoe that hit the sadist in the side, and he cackled unevenly, pulling away from the boy he was chewing on so fervently.

Pete stumbled out of the car, his intoxication obvious. Gary walked upright save the occasional stagger and had the wonderful idea to sneak onto the grounds through the back trails. The sun was just setting, people lingering around and socializing near the front gate, and drunkenness could have gotten them both into a lot of trouble. They slipped down the gravel path that circled around the grounds, holding onto each other for support, and made it to a little break in the stone wall that would let them sneak back into the school.

"Shhhhhh…" Gary slurred out with a chuckle at his wobbly counterpart, Pete staggering then leaning against the makeshift entryway with his head lolling about on his neck.

"I feel – I feel like a spy." Peter muttered in a whisper that was actually louder than his normal speech.

They were next to the teacher's parking lot, hanging around their entryway. The scarred male patted Pete on the ass, beckoning him to go first, and he crawled slowly over the short wall with uneven difficulty, flopping right onto his face with a half-groan-half-chuckle. He wiggled to his feet and staggered between two cars, trailing his hands along them to keep his footing.

The dainty male grinned sheepishly at the ground, stumbling forward when the cars melted away from his fingertips. He extended his hands to maintain his balance, but the world was wrenched in every direction suddenly. When he blinked hard and opened his eyes much wider than they needed to be, he saw black high heels.

Pete's eyebrows furrowed and he rocked in a circular motion, gaze slowly working up towards whoever was wearing those lovely shoes. His flushed face paled and he gaped with fear that his body felt before his mind caught on to why he needed to be afraid.

"Are you… Drunk, Mr. Kowalsky?"


	23. Unacceptable

Unacceptable

[A/N: Things are starting to unravel. Short chapter, I know.]

Mrs. Phillips stared down at the utterly horrified male, who was still wobbling in his spot. The fact that the teacher was the only thing that didn't seem to be whirling around him did nothing for Peter's resolve, and there were tears stinging at the corners of his eyes.

"N-no…" There was a tense silence.

"Relax, teach." Gary's voice could be heard from behind him, and Mrs. Phillips turned her attention to the other boy.

With some miracle, Gary managed to retain some of his fleeting sobriety. After all, he had much more practice at pretending to be perfectly fine than Peter did, and he walked a straight line, one foot after the other. He always moved with graceful purpose, so it wasn't at all an exaggeration of his usual stalk, save the fact that his hands were swinging at his sides and not stuffed into his pockets.

His face was flush, but his expression gave away no hint of drunkenness, so the woman furrowed her brow with even more confusion. Pete was obviously hammered; he could barely stand and from the distance of about three feet, he reeked of booze, but Gary was unreadable. She looked at Pete, who had his head hung with a passive stance, still rocking on his heels.

Gary grabbed his companion's shoulders and helped steady him. It would have been a normal action had it not seemed somehow intimate, the dainty male squirming with discomfort. She glared into the older teen's eyes and tilted her head at the two of them.

"I must say, I'm ashamed of you, Peter." He seemed to curl further into himself.

"This behavior is – is-"

"Unacceptable." Gary finished with just a hint of mock behind his weak smile.

"Don't blame him; I found him wandering around, hammered. It was probably one of the townies, and it's hard to stand your ground when you're as small as Petey. Isn't that right?" There was a rapid shake of Peter's head, like he was afraid his agreement wouldn't be good enough if he didn't go overboard.

"Come on, Mrs. Phillips, this is his first offence, and he promises to never let it happen again. Don't you?" Another all-too-eager nod. Gary was obviously refusing to let him speak for himself.

"I'm just trying to get him to bed." That was true.

"Fine." She caved, and the sadist was cheering on the inside.

"Straight to the dorms." She ordered before walking briskly to her car, and the two teens shuffled away.

Gary almost lost the ruse when he stumbled on his own feet, but played it off as pulling Pete into a more upright position, a mischievous grin on his face. The other boy looked dead; pale and sickly, staring into space and moving with stiff, jerky motions. He had never been that afraid in his entire life, the alcohol heightening his anxiety. The older male's presence was oddly comforting, and he wrapped his arm around his waist as they went, supported by his still-solid stride.

"That was close, femme-boy." He slurred out, losing every semblance of sobriety with the fading prefects and promise of sex.

Pete was still trapped in his thoughts, staggering through the door that was opened for him unevenly. He was led to Gary's room, forgetting most of his anxiety with the rush of his smell, flopping immediately into the bed that practically beckoned. He wanted sleep, he wanted contact, he wanted to forget about their close call, and Gary was eager to give in to his wants.

The sadist's shirt was over his head before he had even gotten into the room, and Pete dragged his body more completely onto the bed. He was on his back, gasping aloud in the frigid room, tugging suddenly on dark hair. They were rolled with a little battle, Gary winning and pinning his captive against the mattress as he dug his teeth into an exposed neck.

Mrs. Phillips didn't know what was bothering her about the situation she had run across, save the fact that Pete was drunk and Gary was with him. She played it over in her head as she drove home, the visual details flashing over her optics with every blink. Suddenly, she snapped, foot slamming on the breaks, the car behind her honking furiously.

_How did I not see it earlier_? She thought to herself furiously. The contact that Gary always seemed to crave when it came to the smaller boy, the fact that he isolated him from other people, the way Pete agreed to everything he put in his mouth. Gary was the abuser, and Pete was rightfully frightened. He was unstable at best, a threat to his wellbeing, someone who needed to be separated from him immediately.

It was illegal to make a u-turn on that road, but the teacher didn't care. Her tires screeched on the asphalt and she sped off in the direction she had come from, making her way back to the school as quickly as she possibly could. She drove into the parking lot just as most of the other students were retiring to their respective rooms.


	24. Sorry

Sorry

[A/N: Hangovers suck. I saw my brother go through one, once, and I thought he'd had the bujeezus beat outta him the night before. Which he just might've, I don't know.

Sorry for the wait; it took quite a while for me to work up the inspiration to write this darn thing, and a different pairing has caught my muse. There are my readers I have to think of, I keep telling her, but nooooo. She's selfish.]

"Be quiet…" Peter was making too much noise, forgetting his shame.

"C-can't. Hng – more." Gary clawed down the smaller male's front, his shirt unbuttoned and spread open.

"Not if you keep being so goddamn loud." The older of the two growled through his teeth, grinding against the hand that had been stuffed down Peter's pants.

"How am I supposed to fuck you if you're waking up the entire dorm during foreplay?"

"T-turn me over." Pete managed through raspy slurs, arching his back and rolling up into the delicious contact.

Gary didn't need to be told twice. He flipped the smaller teen onto his stomach and ground against his entrance through both of their pants, grinning with sadistic thrill. Pete was moving with him, biting onto the sheet he had his face shoved into, wanting so badly to have every article of clothing torn away.

"Get off of him!" They both stopped, snapping their heads to look at the now-open doorway.

Peter scrambled away from the sadist, into a desperate little ball on the bed, hoping to hide from the shadow that had discovered them. They were too drunk to remember to lock the door, the older of the two cursing himself internally for his stupidity. He stood with challenge in his gaze and a snarl in his throat, ready to tear apart whoever had demanded that they separate.

"Are you okay, Peter?" Mrs. Phillips, the dainty male suddenly recognized, spoke tenderly to him, and he gasped.

There was an outstretched hand, beckoning the small teen towards her, sharp, authoritative eyes never leaving Gary, who had let his rage fall behind the mask he usually had around people with more power than him. There was still something sinister bubbling in dark eyes, though, and he stood strong.

"Don't you move." Gary warned with a silky kind of threat, and Pete wiggled into the sheets more.

He was torn. There was Mrs. Phillips, standing in the doorway with the promise of rescue, then there was his companion, practically leaking possessive aggression. His head, fuzzy and distant, was having trouble fitting simple thoughts together, let alone make such an important decision. There were tears streaming down the dainty male's face, falling onto his flushed chest with little cold shocks.

"I'm sorry, Gary…" He whimpered, and the brunette snapped in his direction, still in a fighting stance.

"Why the fuck are you _sorry_? Is there something you want to tell me?"

"Come on, Mr. Kowalski, I'll get you to a safe place."

Pete was ashamed that he was playing victim yet again, knees curling to his chest, sniffling into his legs. He sucked in air and his lugs grabbed onto it with a vice grip, refusing to let him explain himself. Gary had turned his complete attention towards him, gaze filled with an insatiable rage. Pete could almost see the belt.

"Don't be afraid-"

"You go with her, you're done."

_Shit._

He wished he had a coin to flip, some kind of access to his logical brain, some way to decide between safety and happiness. Security and a need he had become so accustomed to, his body ached without it. If he stayed with Gary, he would continue to have torture hanging over his head, but would be satiated. There was also the fleeting promise of humanity behind a condescending sneer. On the other hand, if he went with the teacher, he would lose any chance of having a healthy relationship with Gary, but things would go back to normal, and he wouldn't be so afraid all of the time.

Slowly, tediously, Peter wiggled from the wall he had shoved himself against and stood from the bed. He looked up at the rage on Gary's face, the furrowed eyebrows, the snarl on his lips, then at the hazy, darkened image of Mrs. Phillips, unthreatening. His head, which was still swimming, yearned for the safety of her grasp, the promise of her security. He walked towards her, every nerve reacting to the sensations around him, the thumping of adrenaline making his palms sweaty and stomach churn.

The car ride was tense. Peter looked out of the window, at the trees and other cars zipping by, the world upturned at impossible angles, and begged for the woman to stop. He vomited clear liquid that burned his esophagus, then dry heaved until he was sobbing between every desperate gasp of breath. The dainty male seemed to completely forget about the situation, too enveloped in agony to be able to process it.

Mrs. Phillips guided him back to the car and told him to keep his eyes closed, that blocking out the outside world might help. She returned to her spot and they continued on their way, the woman glancing at him every once in a while.

Her house was humble. It was nice, well furnished, and comfortable, but small. There was only one bedroom, so much unlike Peter's own house, with its two stories and more undesignated rooms than was logical. He went immediately to the bathroom, gagging uselessly into it while Mrs. Phillips made a quick meal and filled several glasses with ice cold water.

"Peter…" She tried from the ajar doorway, pushing it open wider.

"You should drink some water…"

The intense burning in the teen's throat, feeling almost as though every bit of the skin had been stripped away, was barely muted by the lingering intoxication, and he gulped down every glass with greedy desperation. Immediately after, though, he vomited every cool, cleansing drop out and groaned angrily at the horror he was forced into against his will.

Defeated, the woman left a package of crackers, along with a few more glasses of water, on the sink counter, and left him in the pitiful heap on her bathroom floor. He fell asleep snoring noisily and sprawled out at angles that would probably result in tingling limbs later on in the night.

He woke up with a stabbing in his brain, staring straight at a large window, realizing that he was on the living room couch. He didn't remember much after returning to the dorms with Gary other than a car ride and crippling anxiety. His throat throbbed and his head pounded, the world distorted through his hazy eyes. Every light was much more intense than it should have been, every sound like spikes driving through his psyche, and he barely managed to gulp down one of the glasses of now-lukewarm water that had been set out for him before he dozed off into oblivion.

"Kowalski…" A soft voice was trying to reach him, but he wiggled into the couch and grunted unhappily at the intrusion.

"Peter, wake up. It's three in the afternoon." He pried his eyes open just enough to examine whoever was bothering him.

"Mrs. Phillips?" He asked groggily, blinking slowly until the film that seemed to be over his eyes melted away and the world became clearer.

"How are you feeling?"

"Hng…" He flopped onto his back and held his head, an attempt at sitting up failing miserably.

"There is breakfast waiting for you in in the kitchen, when you're ready." She said with a weak, concerned smile, then slipped away.

Pete tried to remember exactly what had happened the night before, coming up short. There were fleeting little visions, like the unbelievable rage on Gary's face or the flashing motion of the trees, but none of it made any real sense. He vowed to never drink again, which he had heard his father say that alcoholics told themselves after binges. The though made the corners of his mouth twitch up into a smile, and he dragged himself slowly off of the couch. Peter stood, and the world whirled around him unsteadily, forcing him to rock in his spot and hold his forehead in his palm.

When the room settled, he dragged his feet into the kitchen, plopping noisily in one of the stools next to the breakfast bar that opened into the living room. Mrs. Phillips was cooking bacon and eggs in a pan, the smell wafting to the battered male's nose and making his stomach protest. He grinned sheepishly, guarding his eyes from the glaring light surrounding him, and gulped down the glass of orange juice that had been offered to him immediately.

"I think we should talk." The teacher tried casually, setting a steaming plate in front of him.

"About what?" He knew exactly what she was referring to, but didn't have the mental capacity to search aimlessly for answers to unspoken questions.

"Gary." She was deadly serious.

"He's something." Pete joked nervously, picking at the meal he suddenly didn't have the desire to eat.

"Start from the beginning…" She tried more tenderly, sitting on the stool Pete assumed was on the other side of the bar.

Peter was silent, turning his scrambled eggs over on his plate and staring at them intently, fear bubbling in his gut. He glanced up, then down, then up again, taking a bite of the food as he thought. She already knew, so there was really no use in denying her the details, even if the very thought of it made him want to writhe in shame.

"A few days before Halloween…" He stopped, pleading with his eyes, not wanting to let his darker secrets go.

"If you don't want to tell me, I'll understand." She offered, placing her warm palm on the back of his hand and smiling.

"No, it's okay…" Peter took a deep breath, then another bite of his food before continuing.

"The night before Halloween, he snuck into my room and…" There were tears stinging at the corners of his eyes, the already pulsating headache increasing in intensity as he tried to keep from crying.

"He said that in return, he would keep me from being bullied. Then, about a month later, he came back expecting… Payment. A couple weeks later, he was playing the game in the common room and I couldn't sleep, then he dragged me to his room and… The next day, I was bullied again." By the end of his little speech, he was sobbing, hiding his face with the hand that wasn't wrapped tightly around the fork.

"W-when Jimmy asked me about it and I sh-showed him my bruises-"

"You have bruises?" She sounded only vaguely surprised, but there was a hint of horror behind it.

"Y-yeah. And a couple scars." Mrs. Phillips gasped.

"He only hurts me when I do something bad, though. The rest of the time, it's not-"

"What do you mean, _bad_?" She tried solemnly.

"L-like when Jimmy beat Gary up over me… He came into my room that night and-" The small male sobbed uncontrollably, ignoring the fact that he was supposed to remain calm in the woman's presence.

She rounded the counter and gently placed her hands on his shoulders with a frantic need to comfort him. Peter immediately leaned into the contact, sucking in air quickly. He could hear Gary's voice stabbing through his mind, telling him that he was being a total victim, that he wasn't the innocent person he was making himself out to be. He then remembered the jacket the sadist had teased him with, the way he had demanded he drink, the small beating he had given him when he protected Thad, and the good moments seemed to fade.

"You need to take this to court." She said, rocking him with her hand on his head, but he yanked away abruptly.

"Wha – No, absolutely not! Nobody can know about this. Promise me you won't tell." He was speaking with quick, frantic words.

"I have to, he's abusing you-"

"Promise me." His hazel eyes were sharp and helpless and pleading and fierce.

She stared down at him for a while, the lingering grip she had on him falling slack. She couldn't fathom his reasoning. He was going to stand by Gary, even after every cruelty that she couldn't even wrap her mind around, and expected for her to support him, too. She thought it might have had something to do with pride, but Peter was smarter than that, and didn't have much of a reputation to keep in the first place.

"Why?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"You're right, I don't. Explain it."

The teen averted his eyes and bit his bottom lip, obviously trying to maintain his composure. He shook all over, wrapping his arms around himself and hunching protectively, as though he was guarding himself from something dangerous. When he spoke, Mrs. Phillips could barely hear him, the words muffled in his arms.

"I'm all he has."


	25. Countdown

Countdown

[A/N: I think of Jimmy and Peter's relationship as plutonic. Why? Because I like the idea that Pete is inherently straight. Got a problem with it? I'll punch you in the throat if you do. You'll be sitting at your computer, then – ack! Been cyber-throatpunched. I'm just kidding, lovelies. I would never do that to you~ My computer is insistent on changing all of the occurrences of "laying" to "lying" in this fic. I'm gonna go through and fix it eventually, but ugh.

I've discovered some more ear-fuel for this particular muse. Pink Floyd's The Wall is wonderful sadism music. Specifically the songs "In the Flesh", "One of My Turns", and "Waiting for the Worms".]

Pete had to go to school. He protested like a stubborn child, but there was no way he could stay in the shelter of Mrs. Phillips' home forever. He knew he had to go back - and he dreaded it - but he didn't have much of a choice. Pete was tired of not having a choice.

He didn't stop looking over his shoulder; he couldn't, not when Gary could be waiting for him behind every corner. He half wished that he had let the instructor help him press charges, that he wouldn't have to worry about being ambushed by an angry sadist. He cursed his twisted morality, the conscience that seemed to want to see him dead, the need he had to protect his tormentor.

The air was thick with the promise of rain, a kind of tension that seemed to keep everybody on edge, not helping Peter's nerves in the least. He went to class with Mrs. Phillips, walking a few feet behind her but still in earshot. After her class, he would be on his own, there would be nobody to protect him. His stomach lurched with the very idea.

Every second - because he was groping to maintain the time - flew by, and when the bell rang, he felt emptiness in his chest cavity. Walking slowly, the dainty male was the last to leave, catching Mrs. Phillip's apologetic gaze as he slipped away. He glared back at her even though he knew it wasn't her fault, but she wasn't angry with him for the bitterness.

The dainty male caught Jimmy's bald head in the crowd and ran to meet him, the older teen glancing down at him questioningly. Peter held up his wrist and grinned sheepishly, trying his best to hide the terror in his eyes. There was a weak smile sent back to him, turned to a baffled stare when they passed the classroom they both knew Peter needed to be in.

"Where were you yesterday?" The burly male tried, leaving the building with a nervous Peter trailing closely behind him.

"You disappeared after Gary dragged you off. There was a rumor going around that you were dead." They both chuckled lightly at that.

"It's a long story." Pete replied tentatively, frantic eyes darting around and locking onto the bushes they were passing as though they would eat him alive.

"I have time." Jimmy suddenly stopped, catching the paranoid behavior before the smaller male could stuff it back into the nonchalance he had been expressing before.

They were standing in the middle of a path, directly adjacent to the opening leading to the prep's area, and he seemed totally unafraid of the threat not fifty feet away. Of course, Jimmy wasn't afraid of very much, seeing as he was the kind of person who beat his fears into bloody pulps. Peter felt safe near him, like Gary wouldn't dare attack him when he was being escorted by such a powerful person, and he let his tense muscles slacken just a bit.

"Alright, I'll tell you, just not here…" Peter said with fear stinging at his words.

"Let's go get something to eat." Jimmy replied with as much kindness as he could muster, beckoning the other teen along with him.

Pete was guided off the grounds again, but this time by someone without malicious intentions, and was relieved that he was away from Gary's clutches. They went to the little burger place known for its cheap food and terrible service, Jimmy ordering himself something. When Pete refused to let him buy him anything, he shrugged, sitting on the curb and patting the space beside him.

Awkwardly, the smaller male sat next to him and pulled his knees to his chest, huffing unhappily. There was a thick silence, the kind that made the muscles in the back of Peter's neck tighten, then Jimmy turned towards his ally with a frown.

"Well?" He asked, raising one of his eyebrows expectantly.

"I was at Mrs. Phillips'." The younger replied, staring intensely at the ground.

"Jesus, you're not going to tell me you screwed her, are you?"

"N-no, it was nothing like that!" Pete replied with exasperation, red flooding his features, and Jimmy snickered, patting his back roughly.

"Gary got me drunk." His voice was much smaller, and he rested his mouth against his folded arms.

"That doesn't sound so bad."  
"You kidding?" Peter eyed the bulky male with disbelief.

"Keep going."

"Mrs. Phillips found out about… Well, you know… And I-" He stopped, the sting of tears threatening at his temples.

"I left. With her."  
"You didn't." There was shock, with a hint of fear on Jimmy's features.

"I'm screwed, aren't I?"

"That's an understatement, buddy." Jimmy stood, walking to stick his head into the tiny restaurant, having thought that he had been waiting for his food long enough.

Pete shuffled his feet, standing and brushing the front of his wrinkled top as straight as he could make it. It was too big for him, a stray dress shirt that his teacher had laying around for a reason he knew better than to ask about. His pants were his own, and had been crudely thrown into the wash the night before, but the shirt had blood down the front of it from when he had busted his lip, not even remembering how he had done it.

Jimmy turned towards him with a grin, holding his food, and they went to return to the grounds, wrapped in a much less stressful silence now that the worry wasn't quite as one-sided. Peter couldn't help but imagine his fate painted into the concrete below his feet, nothing but a red smear left after a horrific beat-down. He averted his eyes and saw himself hanging from his throat by one of the trees, writhing uselessly against the rope choking him to death.

A shiver ran up his spine when he realized that Gary was much more imaginative than he was. He was a schemer, and was probably scribbling incoherent plans into his journal. Plans that would have made a horror movie writer cringe, plans that would be studied by criminologists for ages to come.

"What do I do?" Peter tried tentatively, glancing up at the teen who was walking beside him.

"Hope he doesn't kill you. Or that he does, depending on how angry he is." Jimmy was no help at all, brutally honest to the bone.

Jimmy ate lunch near the front gate, not technically breaking any rules since he had already finished the class that period. Nobody really expected for Peter to be skipping anyways, so he was largely ignored. Jimmy made small talk about the ridiculous rumors that had spread the day before, then rambled on about the differences between certain kinds of underwear and how they made girls' asses look. Pete didn't listen to any of it, half trapped in gruesome visions of Gary's intentions, half wondering how he would avoid the said sadist when Jimmy had to go to class.

The bell rang, and they both walked back to the building with a solemn kind of understanding, Jimmy sorry for his frail friend, Peter terrified of being left alone at all. When they were at the doorway, the larger of the two turned to him and smiled half-heartedly, leaving the poor teen stranded in a sea of shoving and pushing.

Pete was trapped in his spot, the other people filing into their respective classrooms, and he felt a desperate chill slide through his body. His pulse crashed in his ears, and his blood seemed to run cold, muscles stiffening. He turned, expecting to meet icy brown orbs, but saw nothing but lockers.

_Calm down, Peter, this is all in your head._ He told himself, brushing his hands over his upper arms to try and mute the sudden frigidity. He was practically shivering as he made his way to his next class. At least there, he would be safe from Gary. The minute the dainty teen entered the room, he could feel the tingle of eyes on him, and he looked up at his teacher apologetically.

"You're late." Peter could have sworn that he was only waiting in the hallway for a couple of seconds.

"I-I'm sorry."

"Go to the office."

_No. No, no, no, no, oh God please let him change his mind say something to stop him this cannot be happening-_

"Okay."

He left because he wasn't strong enough to fight back, because he couldn't think of an argument to keep him from having to leave, especially with the nonsensical babbling that had been rushing through his head. He took the little pink slip that would have told the principal that he was late for class. That was, if Gary hadn't been after him.

He walked with rushed motions, turned a corner, pattered down the stairwell, huffed noisily with strain as he reached the bottom, and practically bolted towards the receptionist. It didn't work, though. There was an outstretched arm right in front of him, seemingly stabbing out from nowhere, and it caught him in the throat.

With a choking noise, Peter slipped on the tile floors, landing hard on his back. He looked at steel-toed boots, grey slacks, a teal sweater vest. He didn't make it to the face before there was a powerful kick landing on his ribcage, making him suck in air sharply and struggle in the other direction.

"Oh, no, Petey. You're not getting away. Not this time." There was a hand on the back of Peter's shirt, yanking him into a standing position, and he was dragged away roughly.

"I've been thinking about you." The older male purred, Pete struggling in vain to escape the hold he had on him.

He managed free for a moment, stumbling forward but catching himself. Before the smaller teen could take off as quickly as was humanly possible, there was an arm yanked around his throat, and he gagged uselessly. The little noises of his gasps made Gary grin with malice, continuing to drag him down the hall. He was wrenched into the boy's bathroom, the sadist quickly checking to see if anybody was there to witness his plan, smiling down at the thrashing boy when every stall came up empty.

"I've been thinking a lot, actually. About the bones in your fingers, how they'll sound if I pull backwards too much. We can have a little countdown."


	26. We All Float Down Here

We All Float Down Here

[A/N: If any of you have weak stomachs, I would skip to the end. If you've stuck around this far, though, I highly doubt a little bit of ragdoll Petey is gonna take away your breakfast. Or any other meal, for that matter. I had to wiggle my fingers while I wrote this, and I hope I get the same reaction outta you guys.]

Every nerve in Peter's body was screaming. His throat still stung and was ragged, the quick breaths leaving him in furious huffs, and he found that he couldn't exhale long enough to scream. He stared at the door with desperate intensity, as though someone would walk through it if he wished hard enough. He had broken out in a cold sweat, his palms clammy, and he barely registered Gary when he stooped eye-level with him.

"Earth to femme-boy." The sadist said with a grin, snapping his fingers in front of the other male's face. He wanted his full attention.

Pete was still rigid with fear, taking a few steps away from the monster before him, eyes wide with disbelief. It was like a horrible dream, and he almost wished that Gary would hit him and the illusion would be broken. His wish was granted when the back of the brunette's hand shot out and landed on the side of his face, leaving behind hot sting. It wasn't a dream.

The smaller male stumbled to the side, holding up his arms in a defensive position. The weak display was useless, and there was another blow, this one landing on his diaphragm. Pete keeled over and whined into the stagnant air, almost tumbling to the grimy floor, but was caught by a hand tugging the back of his dress shirt. The top button of it popped off with strain, and he struggled hopelessly, suddenly guilty about the article of clothing that he was borrowing.

"You hurt my feelings, Petey." Gary said with a fake pout, using his other hand to grab roughly onto the back of his head.

The younger teen's vision blurred at the edges when his head was shoved into the metal of a stall, barely registering the dent left behind by the force of it. His knees buckled and he fell to the floor, wobbling back and forth with nothing but Gary's hand keeping him upright. He thought he would pass out, wished the world would just stop altogether, prayed that the predator behind him would think him dead and become disinterested.

"You don't have feelings." Pete mumbled with a small voice, not really sure where the words had come from, and he was yanked into an awkward position.

The sadist's deep eyes glared down at him, the thin line of his lips hinting of his bemusement. Pete tried to look away, but every one of his motions was slow and labored, and he only managed to blink slowly. Trapped in an intense glare that rattled Pete's psyche, he found himself hoping for death, yearning for a quick end to his torment, seeing his desires mirrored in dark orbs.

"You're an idiot." Gary snapped down at him, shoving him with a steel-toed boot onto his stomach and leaning his weight so that his lungs contracted.

There were cold fingers wrapped around his wrist and Pete was too broken to understand. His arm was twisted into an unnatural position, then there was a sharp tug. A shrill noise bounded off the walls, ringing in the smaller male's ears, making his already pounding head pulsate painfully. The scream was his, the gentle pop of his shoulder muted by it, Pete not even registering that it was him who whimpered and sobbed into the dirty floor.

"You little shit. Betraying me. I should break your other arm." The limb was dropped, and Pete watched in horror as it wiggled uselessly on the floor, numb.

He tried to move it, but nothing happened, sending signals urgently to his still fingers. He felt a familiar burn in his throat and a churning in his stomach, vomiting onto the cold floor, too weak to move from his spot. His head swam with adrenaline-muted agony, and he heard someone begging for forgiveness.

"Please, Gary, I need medical attention."

"_Please, Gary, I need medical attention."_ Gary mocked with tangible disgust in his tone, kicking his victim's ribcage again for good measure, knowing full well that he wouldn't feel it.

"I can't feel my arm."

"I don't care." He slammed the door on his way out, heavy footsteps receding into nothing as Pete fell into oblivion, thankful that the pain melted along with his consciousness.

"Oh my God!" A masculine voice snapped, bringing Pete out of his dopamine haze.

"Prefect, I need some help over here!"

Pete was lifted and dragged, moaning incoherently as he was taken roughly down to the nurse's office. He kept his eyes closed, every flash of a moving light sending a wave of tired torture through his head. He was on something soft, there was a wet rag wiping the remnants of his breakfast from his cheek, a white-hot pain shooting through him when the dislocated shoulder was prodded.

"Mr. Kowalski, do you know where you are?" He opened his eyes long enough to see the general outline of a person, closing them immediately and groaning out a declaration of fear.

"Brace yourself." There was something in his mouth, and he bit down on it, the cold rush of memory making him thrash around weakly.

There was more of the pain that made his vision go out completely, another scream he didn't register was his, and the feeling suddenly returned to his arm. It was bittersweet, his newly-connected nerves firing with furious protest, and he sobbed into the thing his jaw was struggling against. There was an almost unrecognizable, unnatural feeling in his other arm, then everything fell into mush.

The dainty teen opened his eyes, dripping with sweat, and tried to sit up futilely. There was something that looked like Jimmy standing in front of him, only his mouth was much too big, his jaw becoming unhinged as he spoke, the words sounding unbelievably wrong. Pete thrashed against the things holding him down, almost forgetting the crippling agony in his left arm, the blackness of a now-gaping throat approaching him.

"Don't eat me!" He screamed, the sound somehow jogging him awake, blood-shot eyes snapping open.

"Hey, hey, calm down. Nobody's trying to eat you." It was Jimmy, only his teeth weren't spread impossibly wide.

"What happened?"

"According to the doctors, you had a concussion. You've been out of it for two days." There was something sad in the large teen's voice.

He groaned and landed backwards, hitting the inviting softness of the pillow behind him with a welcoming kind of relief. He wasn't dead, he wasn't crippled, he wasn't still in Gary's clutches. Glancing around, he realized he was in the hospital, Jimmy standing beside him and Mrs. Phillips sitting in the corner.

"Are you feeling alright?" The teacher tried tentatively, guilt stinging at her words.

"Yeah." Pete replied weakly, not wanting to make her any more worried than she already was.

"I think…" He paused, lifting his damaged arm enough to feel the ache that wasn't dulled by whatever pain killers he was on.

"I think I'd like to press charges now."


	27. Run

Run

[A/N: Well, there goes any chance of a canon fic. I should probably put some kind of warning for AUisness in the summary, huh? Pete is crazy. Everybody is crazy. Even you're crazy, but that's a paradox.]

Gary was dragged away. There was the gentle patter of rain, fading into nothing but chill as the storm passed. Pete was standing next to Mrs. Phillips, who hadn't left his side for longer than was absolutely necessary ever since his arm was broken, watching the cackling demon struggle against the two officers holding him in place.

There was pain. It wasn't the tangible kind of agony, the kind of ache that had a reason behind it, but his stomach lurched and his knees buckled. Pete had to grab onto the woman's shoulder to keep from collapsing on the damp ground, and she glanced his was worriedly.

"Peter, are you alright?"

Pete couldn't hear her. Gary was smirking at him. He licked his lips and fell slack in the policemen's arms, the smile growing as his shoulders shook with a chuckle Pete was too far away to hear. The lips that the dainty teen knew so well curled upwards and into an expression he wished he had never seen, a grin with more hate than was humanly possible sewn into its glimmer. The laugh hit his ears, and everything seemed to slow down.

He saw it, the slowly pronounced word, as though his brain was intent to soak up every little detail. With more clarity than he had ever experienced anything else, Peter saw the threat that slipped off of Gary's tongue, and his blood turned to ice water.

_Run_

The sadist was shoved into the cop car, his intense glare never leaving the person had who put him there, even turning his head awkwardly to watch the now-shivering teen as the car pulled away. There was a hand wrapped gently around Peter's upper arm, but his entire body seemed to be numb with something between horror and disbelief. He wasn't afraid, really – Gary couldn't hurt him if he was locked up – just unbelievably _stuck_. He was trapped in the place between reality and possibility, wondering if everything as actually happening the way it was.

The little voices in his head that he thought would be silenced once Gary was no longer in his grasp battled it out, and he wanted to tear his head apart. Instead, he stood there in the thick air, the students that had gathered around to watch his tormentor taken away slowly filing back to their respective places. It was just him, a very worried Mrs. Phillips, and Jimmy, who had come to investigate Peter's suddenly catatonic state.

"Hey, Petey-"

"What have I done?" The hurt look, something beyond any kind of anguish Jimmy had ever seen, was shot his way, the words barely above a whisper.

"What are you talking about? It's over. He's not going to hurt you anymore." Mrs. Phillips gently placed her hand on Peter's uninjured shoulder.

"I deserve him." There were tears welling up in the dainty male's eyes, but he didn't move to wipe them away.

"Come inside. We don't want you to get sick." The other male said sternly, and he turned to leave.

"I deserved everything he did to me. I deserve worse."

"Peter, let's go have some hot chocolate. That sounds nice, right?"

"I can't take this back."

"Petey, hurry up, it's cold out here."

"He won't forgive me. Not now."

Jimmy tugged on the smaller male's good arm roughly, and he stumbled backwards, eyes never moving from the spot he had seen Gary threaten him. At least he thought it was a threat. It could have been something else, yes, he misinterpreted his words. Shoving his worries into the back of his mind, the dainty teen turned and followed his companions into the building.

His door had been fixed. Pete was laying in his bed, staring at the ceiling, still unable to rest, even after a week of anxious sleeplessness. He almost expected for Gary to slip into his room and destroy the maddening calm of solitude, but nothing happened. Nothing was going to happen. Rolling over, Peter stared out of the window he had still failed to put shades on. It was cracked open just a bit, but it didn't have the same effect as it had on Gary's always-frigid dorm, and he scowled at the gently whistling wind.

The window was bright. It was once a comfort to him, that light was on both sides, that he would never be in pitch darkness, but every moving shadow wrenched him immediately out of the sleep he so desperately needed. Glancing at his clock, he groaned unhappily, the red numbers telling him just how ungodly an hour it was.

He told himself he was going to get up in a minute, that he was preparing himself for getting ready, something that usually managed to force him into REM, but the minute he closed his eyes another one of his inner voices chimed in, telling about his terrible decision. He wanted physical pain, something to numb the chatter in his psyche, something to keep his mind off of the person who had started his inconceivable need in the first place.

Huffing and sitting up suddenly, the dainty teen kicked he blankets away and stalked down to Jimmy's room, pressing his ear against the door to make sure he didn't have company. To his relief, there was nothing but the distant chirp of a cricket, and Peter slipped into his protector's room silently. Jimmy was sprawled on his stomach, still in his day clothes and over the blankets, looking as though he had come in from a booze binge.

Peter sighed and went to leave, but something caught his eye. He turned towards the closet that had been left wide open, and had to hold back a gasp. Right in front of him, between the Bullworth mascot costume and a change of clothes bought at Aquaberry, was a clean white uniform. The male approached it with practiced footsteps, holding in his breath for fear of discovery, and reached the closet within moments of entering the room.

With thrill forcing his heart into his throat, he grabbed the orderly's suit and walked slowly back to the door. He was careful with the handle, cringing at the gentle click, and slid through the small opening he had allowed himself before closing the door behind him. He had to hold back the urge to dance with delight at his success, feeling like a child that had stolen candy.

Peter made his way back to his own room and changed with rushed movements, stopping to brush his teeth before he left the dorm completely. He went along one of the back roads, a gravel path that bypassed the traffic and potential discovery by leading almost directly to his destination. He saw it after what seemed like only moments of walking, the sun forcing away the deep purple of the sky to make way for soft pink.

The front gate wasn't an option. It looked as though the night shift workers were still there, a few orderlies stalking around the plain courtyard with sleepy tediousness. Peter walked, hunched to prevent someone from seeing him, to a hidden little grove next to a tree. To his delight, there was a tree that stretched over a broken piece of fencing, and he grinned up at the opportunity.

A sudden realization hit him when he moved to wrap his arm around the tree and his shoulder screamed in protest. Looking down at the arm that should have been in a sling, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a little bottle of pain killers, unscrewing the child-locked cap and popping two of the white pills into his mouth. He wasn't used to taking medications without something to smooth the swallow over, but he choked the unnatural feeling down and stared up at the now-daunting tree.

A bead of nervous sweat fell down his cheek, and he rocked on his heels, mapping out the rout he was going to take. Consciously forgetting his pain, he grabbed onto the trunk and grunted unhappily as he dragged himself upwards. His head was pulsating with the ache he refused to let himself feel, and time seemed to drag on much longer than was possible. After a while of clawing and dragging and grunting, Peter was over the fence, staring down at the ground with tightening lungs.

He didn't understand why he was trying to visit his tormentor, what had possessed him to – once again – betray his logical mind, but it felt so _right_. Glancing at the guard as he passed, the teen hopped from the tree and landed on his feet, surprised by his agility. Still, his ankles ached behind the medication that faded his inner thoughts, dulling his reasoning. He was nothing but walking instinct, letting his feet follow the pattern of right, left, right, left.

Peter was inside the building, dodging the orderlies that might have questioned him. When he was on the cellblock, he glanced into every room, listening carefully for the pattering of footsteps that were currently fading away behind him. The first one was empty, the second housing an older gentleman, but the third had eyes that Pete could never forget, glaring as though he was expecting for Peter to be there. Waiting.

"The key." Gary said sternly, and Pete found every emotion he had been holding back ever since he was taken away rush through him with crippling intensity.

He fell against the door, standing so that he didn't have to see the sociopath on the other side of a square foot of window, hot tears streaming down his face. His medication had kicked in, and he moved slowly, groggily, grabbing the door handle and listening to it rattle against the lock. He should have thought of that sooner, cursing himself for his stupidity with the last of his working brain.

He didn't hurt at all, though. His injury had a tingling kind of register, and his ankles felt tense, but nothing hurt. Standing straighter, Peter pulled himself back into the functioning auto-pilot he had been managing for a while, looking through the window with a bland kind of sureness, not faltering one bit at the sadistic grin he was getting.

"Petey, go get the key." Gary chirped out as though he was speaking to a dog, waving him away.

The younger didn't move for a while, taking in every little detail of the object of his fears. He looked tired and somehow, in the week that he had been put away, had lost weight. A vision of him refusing to eat flashed though the smaller male's mind, Gary tossing a tray away and crossing his arms over his chest with childish rebellion.

"Where is it?" Pete couldn't believe that he was actually considering it, shaking the torn mumbling away from his mind.

"Down the hall," Gary indicated where he intended the other teen to go, "in a room that should be unlocked. There are lots of keys on one ring. Be careful."

Something was off in his speech. There should have been some kind of exasperated insult, a proclamation of his stupidity, a stinging bit of guilt he knew he could inflict. Instead, Pete was given vague yet direct orders, and he furrowed his eyebrows unsurely. He realized exactly what had made him question the sudden change as he walked down the hall; Gary was slurring. It wasn't the kind of chipper slur that Pete recognized as self-medication, but rather a sleepless kind of exhaustion.

He was probably drugged. In all the years that Peter had known him, he was moved from medication to medication, none of them working because he largely refused to take them. The ones he did take were for recreational purposes, and didn't exactly help him function on a daily basis.

Sometimes there were the odd occurrences of normalcy between them, and Pete likened those fleeting moments to a sane Gary, one that wasn't battling his mania, but he didn't seem sane at all. He seemed _sedated._ Pete made it to the room he was told to go to, looking either way to be sure that he wouldn't be discovered, and slipped through the thankfully unlocked door. The key ring was there, as promised, and he grabbed it from the hook it was set on, rushing back to Gary's door.

"You have to promise to be nice." Pete demanded, but all he got was a blank look, the older teen's expression never changing.

"No."


	28. When the World Made Sense

When the World Made Sense

[A/N: I was in an intense mood, so I wrote an intense chapter. With smut. 'Cause this muse enjoys it, apparently.

I realized recently that I've never been flamed... Take my flameginity! C'mon, I know you guys can be very, very cruel.]

"I won't open this cell, then."

"Yes, you will." Gary said it so matter-of-factly, void of taunting.

Pete gawked, his own mind swimming with the drugs in his system that had just hit him full-force. Time was choppy, things weren't making it to his brain in time, and his entire body felt much heavier than it should have. Gary had a bland kind of disinterest in his eyes as he stared him down with sedative-muted intensity, the prying gaze making Pete feel naked.

There was the approach of footsteps, the flash of white light rounding the corner, and the smaller of the two panicked, shaking hands fidgeting with the keys. The first one didn't work, and his heart was in his throat. The second one didn't work, either, and he found his hands clammy with fear. The third key was also a dud, and he glanced through the window separating them, nothing but apathy hitting him in waves.

Gary sighed over-exaggeratedly, rolling over in his stiff-looking bed and facing the wall as Pete finally realized the connection between the numbers carved into the keys and above the doors. He slid the key in, careful to use slow motions and not jerk with adrenaline, and was in the cramped room in seconds.

He hit his back against the door, huffing raggedly into the frigid room, his breath leaving his mouth in a puff of white. Sliding to the floor, Pete let himself calm, the parading guard passing the room with gentle footsteps. He was shaking all over, vision cloudy at the edges, not even noticing Gary as he stood from the bed.

There was a bare foot nudging his leg, and he snapped his attention to the male who had tortured him so many times, the groggy kind of anger making a chill shoot up Pete's spine. He was trapped in a dark glare, a hand extended to him, and he took it, not processing the consequences.

Peter was wrenched off the floor, clawing at the sudden vice grip Gary had on his wrist with his injured arm, flailing unhappily. Gary had his front shoved into the wall, both of his hands pinned on either side of his head, a warm body pressing against his back and making breath all but impossible. Pete squirmed, his wound protesting even through the haze of pain killers at the way he was tugging on his shoulder, and stilled against the rock that Gary seemed to be.

"Let me go…" The smaller male tried, trying to look over his shoulder at his captor, finding that the action was awkward and painful.

"You only told them about the arm. Why is that?" Gary didn't sound sedated anymore, and Pete realized that he had been faking it.

"Gary, please, let me-"

"We both know that's not going to happen." There was hot breath in his ear, sharp words he should have been expecting, and his fingertips started tingling with lack of circulation.

"Answer my question, scum."

"I don't know." Pete answered after a silence, almost sobbing it out, squirming again.

Gary released him, and Pete immediately held onto his shoulder, forehead pressed against the cement wall as he gasped away the agony. There was the shuffling of feet, then lips on a neck exposed by the angle he was standing at. Pete cried out, clamping his lips shut and squirming against the presence of human again, not quite as malicious as before.

Pete's neck was bitten and he arched his back, chilled fingers finding their way to his chin and wrenching his mouth open. The digits invaded the wet cavern, pressing until Pete gagged around them, thrashing again, but not as vigorously. Gary's other hand wrapped around his waist, yanking his hips backwards almost painfully. They snaked up a white shirt, nails dragging down the pale expanse of flesh and making teeth dig into wiggling fingers.

"You're a little monster." Gary huffed into his ear, and he pressed backwards, feeling arousal against his back.

"You came back for _this_, didn't you?" The scarred teen purred, the hand that had been scraping at soft flesh trailing oh-so-slowly downwards.

"Walked right into my arms _willingly_. You're the crazy one." He punctuated his words with a another thrust of his fingers, making Pete gag again, the other hand groping through white fabric.

Every bit of contact melted away, and Pete was left gasping raggedly at the wall, squirming unhappily. He hoped that it was just a dream, that he hadn't actually snuck into a mental institution, that Gary couldn't hurt him. His pants were wrenched downward and his feet were kicked, Gary forcing his legs apart. There were moistened fingers pressed into him roughly, two shoving in hardheartedly, Pete clawing at concrete. He pressed against the cruelty, Gary finding his prostate and smashing against it.

There was hot breath in Pete's ear again, and the pressure was gone, but was immediately replaced with something larger and hotter. Nails dug into supple hips, yanking him maliciously backwards, Pete yelping gently. He pressed his forehead against the wall again and clenched his jaw, tears stinging at his eyes. A hand wrapped around him, and he was pumped, little sounds leaving his throat.

Pete moved his uninjured hand in the way of his head, every thrust making his face hit the wall, biting onto the fabric to try and muffle the noises Gary didn't care about. Pressing backwards and into every rough motion, the smaller male found his vision dotted with white, spiteful fingers leaving bloody lines down his back. He was at the other teen's whims, putty in his palm, brain wired to take every moment of the cruelty with unbelievable need.

Gary grunted, then the pressure had left him, Pete groaning loudly against his arm with displeasure. He looked back to see Gary smirking at him, immediately lunging forward and attacking soft lips with his own. They both stumbled, Pete landing on his back on the bed, and Gary was thrusting roughly into him again. There were teeth on Pete's tongue, and he whined into the blood he tasted, bucking against Gary's hand, wrapped around him again.

Pete came, tugging angrily at dark hair and forcing their mouths into an aggressive lock. Gary's intimidating eyes dug through his very skull, a hazel gaze locked with the lust-filled tint in his glare. Pete lapsed, twitching with every thrust, the kiss since broken. He clamped his eyes shut, letting nothing but his instinct lead him into another state of euphoria.

Peter clawed at Gary's scalp, at his neck, at the scar he felt protruding from the wife beater he was wearing. His knees dug into the tender flesh of the older teen's sides, making him grunt against the throat he was biting into unapologetically.

"You're such a… Whore." Gary slowed his thrusts, moving much more gently into the writhing boy under him.

"H-harder, Gary." Pete demanded in reply, trying to press back with the fervor he was used to.

Gary moved more deliberately, a victorious grin on his lips, and Pete exclaimed unhappily. He wiggled away from the scarred male, pushing on broad shoulders, but was yanked by his injured arm into his previous position. There was a ragged scream, his vision giving out on him with the agony, then he fell slack against the stiff mattress.

"I-I hate you." Pete mumbled, sounding dreadfully broken, and Gary chuckled over him.

"I hate you too, Petey." The words stung.

Gary's proclamation made his stomach twist and head swim, the sadist moving more forcefully into him. The bed creaked with force, and Pete mewled, forgetting his agony as he was shoved roughly into the mattress. Their pelvises collided painfully, and the smaller teen dug his nails into Gary's arm, dragging down in time with the thrusts. He came again, a cracked noise leaving his gaping mouth, and Gary followed immediately after. They were slack against each other, Gary rolling and staring at the ceiling with tight lips.

"Why did you come back?" He asked after a silence broken only by labored breathing.

"I missed you."


	29. Reasons

Reasons

[A/N: A friend of mine told me that it isn't quite clear that Pete's got Stockholm's Syndrome. Or some version of it. I'm not sure if it applies to abusive relationships. Perhaps there's a better term for it. I'll Wiki it later.]

Peter stared at the tired expression on Gary's face, wanting to put his clothing back on but feeling absolutely spent. The keys had been discarded on the floor, and they would have been his biggest worry had he cared about anything other than the rise and fall of his tormentor's chest. Gary was breathing, lips parted just enough for him to calm himself, eyes becoming half-lidded with exhaustion. The sun was shining into the frigid room, lighting every intimidating patch of black, glinting off of the sweat that lined tanned skin.

The smaller of the two was entranced. His body seemed to melt, his pain slipped away, and there was nothing but Gary, so close to him, in the vulnerable state he seemed to slip into post-sex. There were brown eyes on Pete, mild but still bitter, with just a hint of hurt behind them.

Turning on the hard mattress, Pete brushed his fingers fleetingly over Gary's scar, and he seemed to flinch away before faltering and letting Peter touch him. Chocolate eyes fluttered closed, and Pete watched in awe as every visibly tense muscle slackened. Gary was nothing more than a vicious dog, bowing when he was caressed just right, and didn't look at all dangerous when he trailed his fingers down the side of his face.

"We should get out of here." The pale boy chimed in with a voice that cracked with thirst.

"Yeah, run away together. Live off of squirrels and raccoons in the wilderness." Gary was immediately menacing again, glaring sharply at the person who was going out of his way to help him.

"Come on, I came all this way to get-"

"No, you came all this way for an easy fuck."

Pete gawked with disbelief, then his feminine features hardened, and he stood from the bed, yanking his pants back on angrily. Gary had his hand in his hair, the shadow blocking one of his eyes, expression unreadable. Pete had come to realize that the blank, slightly frustrated look Gary wore meant some kind of emotion he wasn't comfortable showing, and hated him for being so closed-in.

"Exactly what is this to you?" Pete asked, tone a sharp hiss.

"Don't you ever wonder why I come back? Christ, for being a self-proclaimed mastermind, you're really thick." The smaller male scoffed at the scowl he was receiving.

"And why do you come back, Petey?" Gary was standing, the hand that was in his hair tightening its grip.

"I beat you, rape you, and leave scars, but here you are. I broke your fucking arm, and you snuck into an asylum to be with me. Explain why you come back, even after I've tried my hardest to make you leave!" The scarred teen was practically growling the words out, jabbing his index finger into Pete's injured shoulder to send his point home.

Pete hissed at the pain, hand on the doorknob, and stared up at Gary with disbelief. He blinked slowly, opening his mouth to speak, but finding that the words he was so desperately grabbing for didn't come to him, that he was at a loss.

"You've infected me with some kind of disease, you useless little faggot! And you _won't fucking leave!_ Get out, never come back, I don't want you here."

"Wh-what – why - I…"

"No! No more stuttering like a schoolgirl, no more pleading, no more batting your fucking eyelashes! GET OUT!"

"Gary, what-"

"Pete, I'm not going to tell you again. Leave before I break your other arm."

The hermit stared in horror as Gary's features melted from rage to an unbelievable kind of grief, watching as his jaw muscles flexed under his cheeks, his eyelids shutting and keeping back tears that were struggling against his willpower. Pete had only seen him like that once, face hidden by darkness, buried in the nape of his neck as he became something so much unlike the inhumane façade he maintained.

Pete stepped forward, swallowing dryly, and pulled Gary by his shoulders into his grasp. There was a shaking breath, arms around his waist, and the sadist fell into a huddle of pitiful sniffles against him. Peter couldn't help that he felt horrible for whatever had driven him into the state he was in, cursing himself for the mistake he had undoubtedly made.

"Why are you still here?" Gary muttered into his shirt, and Pete rocked him gently.

"I won't leave you."

"_Thank you._" The words were spoken so softly that Pete thought he had misheard, that Gary was incapable of such a tender thing, that he was going mad. Anything but that, anything.

Pete hated himself. Every bit of it was his fault. He didn't know how, but he was the root of every one of his problems. He should have known, should have protected him, should have been there to support him. Pete was the only person Gary opened up to, the only person who had any impact on his emotions, the only person who could help him. He had thrown it away, every bit of trust Gary had given him, had told the authorities, had him incarcerated, and the very thought made his throat contract.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry." The dainty teen said, pressing his lips on the top of Gary's head as they moved together, Pete dragged to the floor as the older male's legs gave out on him.

The sadist was curled on his lap, pale fingers running through dark hair with as much compassion as he could muster. He was muttering apologies with fervent sincerity, holding onto his companion tightly. There was another hiccup and sniffle, and Gary wiped his face on Pete's white shirt, falling silent save the occasional sharp intake of breath.

"You're still here…"


	30. All's Fair

All's Fair

[A/N: Another Gary-centric chapter. His childhood was reaaaaaally messed up. If child abuse makes your tumbly rumbly, I suggest you not read his description of it. The quote in the beginning is from The Art of War. So is the chapter's title, kinda.]

"Engage people with what they expect; it is what they are able to discern and confirms their projections. It settles them into predictable patterns of response, occupying their minds while you wait for the extraordinary moment — that which they cannot anticipate." Gary mumbled into the still air, curled like a child on Peter's lap as his hair was combed through with pale fingers.

"Poetic." The smaller male joked solemnly, and the sadist squirmed closer to him, closing his eyes and sucking in his floral scent.

"You should have left by now."

"I'm not leaving without you."

"I don't think the good doctor will be too happy about finding you in here."

"Come with me."

Gary sat up straighter and looked into hazel eyes, his expression defiant and sure. Sighing and standing, the sadist flopped into his bed, staring at the infuriatingly white ceiling. He felt calm, like crying had taken away every dangerous thought and painful memory, if only for a moment. His head was clear, his body tranquil, and he was thinking with unadulterated reason. Pete, on the other hand, was nothing but panicked need.

"Dammit, Gary, I don't have a lot of time!"

"Get out of here, Petey. If I wanted out, I would have been gone a long time ago." It was a lie, but Gary was sure that Pete would have believed it.

"I'll be right here when you come back. Maybe." There was a smirk on the older teen's face, and Pete scowled back at him with disbelief, turning to the door and waiting for him to stop his departure.

After Pete realized he wasn't going to stop him, he left, the keys jingling around the ring. The click of the lock resonated against the walls of Gary's personal prison, and gentle, rushed footsteps became fainter as his companion left. He let himself slip into the most restful sleep he had experienced in months, not even bothering to use his blankets. It wasn't long before he was trapped in his subconscious, something like a lakeside resort filling his dreams.

He woke when there was a knock at his door, shooting into a sitting position with instinctual fear. There was a nurse standing in the doorway holding a cup filled with medication he wasn't going to take, and he dragged himself from the bed to grab the pills and the glass of water she offered him. Gary swallowed the water and opened his mouth, the nurse smiling half-heartedly at him as she left. Immediately, the scarred male spat the white ovals into his hand and stuck them into his pillowcase, under his pillow.

Breakfast smelled like what Gary imagined death would smell like, so he ate cereal instead, sitting at the round table and glaring at his food. The person to his left was mumbling incoherently, the person to his right staring with catatonic intensity at the wall, gaping as though he was surprised. He grinned at him, snapping his fingers in front of the unblinking eyes, chuckling to himself and shaking his head as he turned back to his cereal.

"Would you like to share, Chris?" The doctor asked with a mock kind of tenderness in his tone.

"I-I dreamed th-that my mom took my t-toothpaste away." A shivering kid stuttered out unsurely.

"Interesting. What happened next?"

"She told me I couldn't waste money on something like toothpaste, that it was something we couldn't afford. Then I woke up." He looked genuinely unhappy, and Gary grinned unapologetically at the doctor.

"Thanks for sharing." The doctor turned his attention to the sadist, who was holding back giggles.

"Smith, would you like to share?"

"Not really."

"You need to start participating in group, you know."

"Okay. I had a dream that Marilyn Monroe came to visit. She was completely naked, walking around and shaking her tits like-"

"Smith! What have I told you about vulgarities?"

"Hey, you wanted to know about my dream."

None of it was true, he just wanted to get under the therapist's skin, and it had worked, but it was a short lived victory. They were walked like small children – all but the catatonic boy, who was confined to a wheelchair – to a different section of the hospital, a common room with chairs lining the walls and a tennis table in the middle. Immediately, the sadist shot towards the table and grabbed one of the paddles, grinning at the crowd of crazies that stood around him.

The stuttering male, someone with platinum hair and oddly intense green eyes, which darted around like he expected for something to pop out of the shadows and tear him to pieces, stepped forward. He took the paddle that was offered to him and Gary's smile grew, waiting until he rounded the table before he served an easy little backhand.

They went back and forth, the force of the paddles increasing as time progressed, and soon they were hitting the little ball with thick thwacks. The ball was hit back to the lanky male, who countered, and it bounded off of his side, onto Gary's, then into the air over his head, landing with a gentle bounce on the floor behind him.

There was a toothy beam, and the sadist jogged back to get the ball, returning to the table with a joyous kind of competitiveness, placing the ball under his paddle and rolling up his sleeves. The paranoid boy across from him stared back with a gaping mouth, horror flashing in his now-still eyes. Gary looked down at his arms, confused, and gasped aloud at the lines of scabs trailing down them. He cursed himself internally when a nurse approached him with a concerned look on her homely features.

"What happened?" She asked tentatively, reaching for his damaged forearms, only to have Gary yank away from the contact angrily.

The doctor was there in moments, beckoning him into the private therapy room. Gary followed because he had no choice, and watched as he sat across an unfriendly-looking table as though he was going to be interrogated. Gary plopped unceremoniously in the chair he was led to by a bulky technician, pulling his sleeves down again and resting his hands on the table. The sadist stared his supposed savior down until he folded his hands on the table and leaned forward in his chair.

"Did you do that to yourself, Gary?" He tried, concern that didn't fool Gary painted on his features.

"I don't remember doing it." The teen replied, sprawling informally in his seat.

"Did you have a night terror?"

Gary was silent, averting his eyes because he knew how much trouble he would be in if the doctor didn't believe the lies he was preparing. Self-mutilation was taken very seriously, and the clean lines of scab that Pete had left the night before could have crucified him. He glanced back up at the stern, kind features of the man across from him and sighed aloud, tapping the metal with his index finger nervously.

"Gary, if you did, you can tell me. Don't worry."

"Hah!" He barked; faltering and telling him outright would have given him away, if he didn't burst into tears, which he didn't think he could play off with his lack of tension.

"What do you want me to say? Bitch and moan about how terrible my life is? What?" The doctor was slightly surprised by the viciousness in his tone.

There was another staring contest, pity meeting insatiable rage that boiled behind the childish defiance Gary was portraying. Just a little longer, maybe a slam of his palms on the table, an attempt to storm out of the room, and the doctor would be putty. Gary did just that; standing so quickly that the chair screeched against the concrete floor, turning towards the tech who had his arms crossed over his chest intimidatingly.

"Sit down, Smith."

"Fuck you."

"Sit down! Charles, would you…?"

The teen was yanked back into the chair, Velcro straps secured around his wrists, keeping him securely in place. Gary had to hold back a string of curses, glaring back at the doctor with animalistic ferocity. There was an uncomfortable silence, the tension so thick the therapist thought he might choke on it, sighing with exasperation and turning to the clipboard in front of him. Defiance, high intelligence, narcissism, evidence of PTSD, possible sociopathic personality disorder; dangerous, but not a threat to himself, and not the kind of person who would shout for attention by scratching himself.

"What did you dream about?" The doctor knew it had to be from a night terror; no other theory explained it.

Gary sighed heavily, squirming against his restraints and feeling a familiar kind of fear bubbling in his throat. He sucked it back immediately, refusing to actually let the doctor help him; that would have been counterproductive. He glanced at his hands, fisted against the wood they were attached to, and lost his angry façade for a moment, long enough to let the doctor know the terror that was trying to claw its way to the surface.

"I'll tell you if you unstrap me, please, I just…"

"Alright, but be warned, this is your last chance."

The bulky nurse undid Gary's restraints, and he slackened with muted relief, rubbing where his arms had been held down. There weren't many things that could make him crack, but being tied down was one of them, and had the doctor pried any more, he would have crumbled into nothing. It was one of the reasons Gary didn't cause as much trouble as he knew he could; there was always the possibility of being stuffed into a straightjacket hanging over his head, left overnight with useless arms. The very thought made him cringe.

"I had a dream about the time I was locked in a box." Gary said, sadness stinging in his tone.

He hadn't actually had a night terror, but he could recite them like they were scripted; every terrifying moment of his subconscious forcing him to relive what little memories of his childhood he had, sometimes giving him new things to mull over in a panic-induced haze. He chose the most recent one he had, one that would have given the doctor more insight than he wanted him to have, but would have had the desired effect.

"It was a little while after I was locked out of the house and had gotten fleas. When I came home, begging and pleading to be let in from the rain, mom saw that I was covered in the damn things. She was nice at first, but refused to get anywhere close to me, and led me with a bowl of dry cereal into the basement. I didn't realize what was happening until there was the stove poker in my face, and she stuffed me into the dog carrier and left me in the dark." Gary stared at the table as he spoke, as though admitting to any of it was showing a weak side of himself.

"She left the fucking bowl of cereal right outside the cage, and had put a padlock on it. I was dirty, cold, wet, starving. She left me there all night, cramped so tight I could barely breathe, scratching at my skin because it itched _so badly_. She was primrose fucking chipper the next morning, too, and we went to Church after she had scrubbed me raw with my get-clean brush. Pops beat me when I bled on my dress shirt." He ended it with a chuckle, and the doctor stared back at him with a horrified expression.

"So, can I go and enjoy my game of Ping-Pong now, doc?"

"Sure. Charles, escort him back into the common room. Thank you for sharing, Gary."

The sadist left, a smirk on his features when he knew nobody could see it, relishing his victory. He didn't roll up his sleeves when he picked up the paddle that the platinum-blonde had left for him, and served with a relieved kind of joy, a grin on his face when he was offered a challenging return. It was a good day.


	31. Lying to Ourselves

Lying to Ourselves

[A/N: I think most people have that one friend who's insistent on helping them, who always speaks the truth, and who is supportive throughout the bad decisions they warn them about. Jimmy's kinda like that for Pete, and lord knows he needs him.]

The minute Pete entered his room, he knew he was about to face Hell. The sting of prying eyes made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, the whisper of rage stuffed so far down the intruder's throat it only hit Pete a moment made his stomach jolt. Jimmy was sitting on his bed, waiting like someone's family did in an intervention, staring with what could only have been translated into pity and accusation painted on his freckled features. The smaller teen had to hold back the urge to bolt out the door and run as quickly as the burning in his backside would have allowed him.

"H-hey, Jimmy." He tried with a smile that did nothing for the argument he was incapable of forming.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" The larger male stood and approached Pete, an action that made his heart leap in his chest.

Peter was reminded of his childhood, of being caught breaking the rules, scrambling for a good excuse. He looked pleadingly up at his ally, mouth hanging open as though he was going to say something, nothing but a choked noise leaving his throat. He was still dressed in the hospital worker's uniform, worn as a last resort had he been spotted, and his head still swam with the fading pain killers.

"Please tell me you decided against it." The smaller teen shuffled in his spot, staring at the floor.

"Jesus, Petey!" Jimmy let his hands hit the sides of his legs, a physical display of his exasperation.

"What were you thinking?!" Rage, with a hint of vexation.

"I-I don't know." Pete answered honestly, feeling as though everybody wanted an explanation from him, as though he was being put on the spot for the second time that day. He hated it.

"You do know that Gary could have killed you, right?"

"N-no he wouldn't-"

"Right, just like he wouldn't take it too far, like he wouldn't have you hospitalized. I worry about you all the time, that Gary's going to break out and beat your face in or something, and you steal my clothes to see him." Guilt, the kind that made Pete want to stop existing altogether.

"I wasn't stealing, I just-"

"You bled on it, too. Christ."

"Jimmy, I'm sorry-"

"No you're not. If you were sorry, you would stop doing it."

"What am I supposed to do?!" Pete was suddenly shouting, standing his ground against the person who had supported him, rage making his entire body burn suddenly.

"Of course you wouldn't understand; I doubt you've ever felt love before!" His hands balled into fists so tight his knuckles whitened and his nails stabbed into the base of his palm.

"I care about Gary, I can't just forget about him. He loves me too-"

"You don't really believe that, do you?"

The anger slipped out of the small teen just as quickly as it had come, and he stared with a gawking mouth and furrowed eyebrows at the calm male standing in front of him. No, he didn't really believe that. There was not even a sliver of evidence that proved Gary's perceived affection. Even the fleeting moments of tenderness could always be argued back to personal gain; a need for physical closeness or body heat, Pete just happening to be there when he broke down.

"He doesn't love you. Shit, I wouldn't be surprised if he wasn't even capable of love. Don't delude yourself."

"B-but what about-"

"You believe that he cares because you _want_ for him to care. Nothing more than that and you know it." Peter felt the space behind his eyes throbbing with the promise of tears, something that hadn't really hurt in his chest shattering and stabbing into the organs surrounding it. Jimmy's hateful glare was stuffed behind a mask of friendly worry, and he placed his hand gently on Peter's uninjured shoulder. The smaller teen bit his bottom lip to hold back a broken sob, sniffling back another one when the older male stooped to his level.

"Hey, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that." Jimmy recognized his mistake and tried to frantically piece together the remnants of Pete's strength.

"N-no, you're right. You're completely right. This needs to end."

Jimmy stood near him for a while as Pete stuffed the rest of his woe behind another mask, sniffling into the stoic air. When the older teen was confident he wouldn't break, he softly closed the door behind him. Peter was immediately trapped in his thoughts, sinking slowly into the prison of the conscious mind. He moved mechanically, curling under the blankets regardless of his classes, and let himself slip.

He didn't cry; it was like he was too tired to do so, like his body was bored of that kind of relief. Hazel eyes stabbed into the wall, intensely enough to burn holes into it, and waited for the world to end. He was stupid, careless, deserving of every bit of torture he suffered, and yet there was a boiling hatred in the pit of his stomach. It made his throat clench, his head pound, his thoughts whirl around in a dangerous little tango of irrationality.

Pete thought about Gary, about the pained expression on his face the night before, about the way he had curled and rocked and sobbed against him, and there was something screaming how it was wrong. He thought about Jimmy, the sure glare he always seemed to have, about the way he was rock-solid in his absolution, and something else was scratching at the inside of his skull. Then he thought about himself.

It wasn't in Peter's nature to direct situations to himself. He worried about everybody else; about how his every decision would affect them, about their reactions. He so rarely took the time to see himself planted in the world he was exposed to, so used to being a separate entity that he didn't see the way it was tearing him in two. The image he had, the day after he had gotten into the fight with Gary over Thad crossed his mind, only with more built on top of it.

A bloody nose, a busted lip, a slack and useless arm, naked and humiliated in front of the crowd he felt that he suddenly was. Instinctually, the small male pulled his knees to his chest and gasped at the insides of his eyelids, his shoulder suddenly protesting angrily. It hurt, it hurt, _it hurt._ He thought his arm might fall off, the stabbing of clarity tugging him out of his unhealthy thoughts, driving him to sit up in bed and keel over, holding his shoulder as though he was trying to keep it in place.

He remembered his pain medications and reached for them but stopped himself, standing and staggering to the bathroom. He stripped away the uniform that he needed to bleach, scalding water hitting his flesh with a puff of steam. It hurt, too, but it was alright. He didn't mind that the thing he used to wash himself left inflamed red along where he scrubbed too hard or that every lift of his bad arm shot another rush of agony through him.

Peter needed to see Gary again. Something told him that he wouldn't be able to do it on his own, that he needed to say goodbye and have _closure_. None of it was good, and if he was going to retain any bit of his fleeting sanity, he needed to leave that part of his life behind. No matter the hurt he was going to inflict, he needed to look after himself. He would break if he didn't.

After Pete dressed in his school uniform, he went to class, knowing that he needed to wait until his mind was clear before he made any rash decisions. The day went by oh-so-slowly, and by the end of it, he wanted to scratch his brain out. There was nothing but idle time, work he did slowly but still finished much too soon, doodling becoming dreary when there was nothing else to draw and he had reverted to making dark circles with his pen in his notebook.

Jimmy met up with him as he walked back to the dorm, smiling half-heartedly and not seeming at all bitter towards him. Pete glanced up from the ground, rushed steps calming so that the older teen's leisurely pace could adjust to his own, and continued on silently. When they were at the double doors leading into the boy's dorm, Jimmy stopped before Pete could open it, standing in his way and trying to catch the hazel gaze that was insistent on fluttering in every other direction.

"Hey, I'm sorry for earlier today." He confessed, and the smaller male glanced back up at him before staring at the ground between his feet.

"It's okay. Can I ask you a favor, maybe?"

"Anything." There was a fleeting kind of relief in Jimmy's tone.

"Would you… Come with me to say… Goodbye?"

The relief turned into understanding, then a subtle joy, and the bulky male patted Peter's shoulder gently, nodding as though his asking for help was the best decision he had ever made. It probably was. They went into the dorm, and Pete retired to his room, falling into bed and dozing into a well-deserved rest.


	32. The Inescapable Us

The Inescapable Us

[A/N: The title is also the name of a Matthew Good Band song. I thought it fit perfectly in with this chapter, which is vague. Mmyep, vague chapter is vague.]

"Smith, you have a visitor."

Gary's eyes shot up from the board game he was winning, eyebrows furrowing with disbelief. It couldn't have been his parents; if they even had the tenacity to show up, the doctor would have refused to let them see the sadist for fear of inducing a panic attack. His only thought was that Pete was visiting him, but it made no sense for him to follow the rules when he didn't have to.

There was a lump in his throat, and his palms were clammy, something telling him that whoever had come to visit was not the bearer of good news, that he would regret it. The little window that let the orderlies see into the visitation room revealed Pete, who was staring at the table he sat at, hands folded with his usual submission. The stern, almost angry look on Gary's face turned into a grin, and he waited as his escort opened the door for him, striding quickly past the bulky nurse. It had been three days since their last meeting, and Gary was starting to think that he wasn't coming back.

The joy on his features snapped into a snarl when he saw a freckled face, glaring back at him with dangerous animosity. The scarred male looked at Peter with disbelief, sour features unread by averted hazel eyes. The door closed behind them, like something out of a bad horror film, and they were all trapped with nothing but homicidal rage, disbelief, and apology filling the tense air.

"Hopkins."

"Smith."

Jimmy and Gary addressed each as the sadist took his seat across from the jumpy teen, who was rigid with fear. The scarred male folded his hands on the table, mirroring Peter's actions, and he immediately pulled the pale limbs away, into his lap.

"What's with the bodyguard? You act like I'll hurt you."

"Again." Jimmy added bitterly, standing closer to his frail ally and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Quiet, James, the grown-ups are talking." Gary purred tauntingly, not even looking up at him, insistent on making Pete squirm with the intensity of his glare. It was working.

"I – we need to talk." Pete whispered out, still staring at the table.

"Hm? And what about, femme-boy?"

"Don't call him th-"

"Shut the fuck up before I beat your face in!"

"I'd love to see you try, you sick bastard!"

"Guys…" Peter's tone was so different from theirs that it stung and shocked them silent.

Gary was standing, his palms pressed firmly on the table before him, and Jimmy had his teeth bared, arms at his side as though he was ready to strike if Gary even moved in the wrong direction. The sudden jolt of the sadist hitting the table had made Pete jump, and his muscles were even more rigid. He was cursing himself for bringing Jimmy with him, but he knew that Gary would probably strangle him if he tried to break it off without protection.

"Gary, sit down." There was something pleading yet stern in the dainty male's tone, and the other teen slowly returned to a sitting position, eyes never leaving Jimmy's.

"This isn't working, and I think we should both move on." Peter had to take a deep breath before he found the strength to say it, everything coming out in one forced, labored exhale, and he trembled with panic.

Gary stared back at him, mouth agape, posture straightening. It was impossible. Peter wasn't actually leaving him, no, he didn't have the strength of character to make a decision like that, and Gary suddenly turned his attention to the boy standing at his side like a loyal dog. His mask melted away, and for the first time Jimmy saw the look that haunted Peter's nightmares, so inhumanly hateful that it made his stomach twist with a childish kind of fear.

"_You._" He snarled, moving tediously into a standing position.

"You've convinced him to leave me, haven't you? Why is that, eh, Jimmy? Do you want him all for yourself?" As the intimidating male approached Jimmy, he found himself walking backwards, not quite comprehending the fear that was making his heart thump wildly in his chest, his blood run frigid.

Peter immediately stood and stepped towards them, wondering why one of the techs hadn't walked in on them to break up the imminent fight. Gary had a homicidal glint in his stare, a thirst for blood dripping from his pores, malice hanging around him like a cloud. Pale arms shot out and a girlish face burrowed into the back of Gary's hospital-issued scrubs, holding against him and shutting his eyes tightly with the expectation of agony.

Instead of turning and tearing the small teen limb-from-limb, Gary stopped, looking down at the arms he wasn't expecting to make contact with, rage lost in surprise. Jimmy gaped back at him, just as baffled, and the smallest of all of them let out a slow breath, heat spreading over Gary's entire body. He turned in his grasp, catching a hazel gaze.

"If you're going to hurt anyone, hurt me. It's my fault, I'm sorry." Suddenly, there was a calloused hand on the smaller teen's jaw, moving him gently away from Gary, a sad expression in dark eyes.

"You shouldn't have come." The words were so soft and void of malice that Peter was actually not expecting the fingers wrapped around his throat.

He was smashed onto his back, flailing with panic, his access to air cut off by a terrifyingly familiar sensation. Gary was tranquil above him, features stoic, contrasting the constant motion of the boy he was choking with an artistry that made Jimmy snap out of his daze. He yanked on the back of Gary's shirt, the sadist landing on the floor, and wailed on the tauntingly blank face before him.

Peter coughed, Jimmy grunted, Gary laughed, and the techs finally realized that the meeting had run its course. They were shouting something about sedatives, every noise falling on deaf ears. The youngest of the three had crawled over to the fight, grabbing onto one of Jimmy's arms to try and stop the ferocious beating he was giving Gary, and the moment he stilled, there was a hand tangled in the front of Pete's shirt, wrenching him forward.

His jaw hit the concrete floor with a loud crack, and everything became a vague haze of what it had been before. He blacked out just before he saw a splatter of blood against the grey below them, thick with the sound of flesh against flesh, bone against bone, a struggling human and a still one. Pete woke up in a hospital bed, only this time he was alone. He tried to open his mouth to speak, but there was an unbelievable sting in his cheek, and he gingerly touched the thin wire holding his jaw in place.


	33. Soft Spoken

Soft Spoken

[A/N: This chapter is supposed to be sad. If it's not, let me know, and I won't do anything to change it 'cause I like it the way it is. Or maybe I will, and I'll praise you for your insight. Who knows?]

Peter had a misplaced kind of love for the needle in his hand that administered his pain killers. He brushed his fingers longingly over the clear tube leading to the bag of saline next to his bed, smiling with a drunken kind of awe at the way it moved against the pads of his fingertips, somehow cold to the touch. He lolled his head towards the window, the sun now hanging lazily in the midday sky. He had been in a state between sluggish awareness and fleeting rest since the middle of the night before, when he screamed through his teeth and the night shift nurse rushed in to increase his morphine drip.

Something told him that he was going to have a visitor that day. He didn't want someone to ruin his euphoric ignorance, to explain what had happened the day before, to break the veil that he had he had worked so hard to pull over his eyes. He stuffed what he had seen so far into his subconscious he doubted he'd be able to remember it ever again, which worked for him, and the very thought of questioning it made his stomach twist with dread.

Pete was right. Mrs. Phillips had a worried look on her face, concerned and baffled and somewhat horrified, but she wasn't joined by Jimmy. He sat up a little bit in the hospital bed, peering out of the doorway and expecting for that freckled face to be there, smiling weakly back at him, but there wasn't. There wasn't.

"How are you holding up?" He smiled weakly at her question, shifting in his spot to get a better view of the teen he _knew_ was there.

When hazel eyes caught his teacher's frightened gaze, he saw that she was staring at the stitches on his face, and he moved to cup his hand over them, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. She immediately snapped her head in a different direction, clearing her throat and fiddling her thumbs as though she was dreadfully nervous. Peter didn't like that she was nervous, he didn't like that Jimmy wasn't there, he didn't like that one of the nurses was hanging in the doorway and looking from him to his teacher with inappropriate interest. She could almost feel his question, and turned towards him, but he could tell that she was staring at the space above his head.

"There's something I need to tell you." She said solemnly, and Peter wanted to scream.

"As I'm sure you know, there was a fight, and…"

_No, no, no, no, ohGodno, please, no-_

"Gary is… Well, Jimmy and him…"

_Please, just shut your mouth, I don't want to know, I just want to stay in drugged up and ignorantforeverdon'ttellmeleavemebe-_

"The doctors don't really know what happened. Gary, he – he hasn't moved since the fight. They think…" She was sniffling and her voice was cracking.

"They have yet to test it, but they think he's brain-dead."

Pete stared back at her with an insatiable rage. The teacher walked to his side and planted her hand gently on his shoulder, but he jerked in the opposite direction, wailing in his throat because his mouth wouldn't open. He curled his knees to his chest and scratched at the pale-pink blanket that kept him from tearing his skin off, rocking. Hot tears left a bitter kind of tingle on his cheeks, falling onto the back of his bare hands, one of them landing on the I.V. Staring down at it, he grunted, then tore it out, struggling to his feet as Mrs. Phillips scrambled after him.

The nurse was there, along with another two bodies, and he was led back to his bed, but he needed to get out. Somehow. He needed to see Gary, to hold him, to tell him that everything was okay, to nurse him back to health, but there were Velcro braces holding him to his bed, around his wrists and ankles, not giving out no matter how much he flailed. After a while, another needle was forced into his arm, and he was almost immediately slack, trapped in another opium haze. Mrs. Phillips was crying silently in the corner, nothing but a sharp intake of breath the evidence of her woe, and Peter drifted to sleep. Jimmy never came.

He woke to silence. It was a dry kind of silence, a lonely kind, and he lifted his swimming head to look around the room. Mrs. Phillips was curled up in a corner, shifting about with discomfort in her sleep. He didn't recognize his usual reaction of guilt and empathy, instead just finding a cold kind of emptiness, staring at her with angry eyes. He was still secured to the bed, and he wanted so badly to see Gary that it ached. There was a guttural sound that left his throat, followed by another louder one.

The instructor jolted awake, looking as though she didn't know where she was, then slackened when she saw the bland features of the boy she had vowed to protect. Standing, she struggled in his direction, leaning over him with a tight-lipped smile. He wanted to tell her how much he needed to see Gary, wanted to explain that none of it was his fault, that he was the only one to blame, but he couldn't.

She didn't understand his need. Her hand brushed over his forehead, and he didn't protest, staring at her with a longing he was incapable of voicing, reaching towards her with drug-deliberate movements until the brace blocked his way. She held onto his hand and sat on one of the stools next to his bed, running her thumb over the frail wrist.

"He can't hurt you anymore." She said, and he broke into another fit of sobs, finding the emotion that he had been grabbing for just moments before.

She stared at him with worried disbelief, head tilted to the side, inquiry on her features. He grabbed her hand in his own, holding as tightly as his sedated muscles would allow him to, and spread his lips. A pitiful noise left his clenched teeth, and he resigned to stay silent; besides, he couldn't find the words to explain what was going through his head. He doubted the words existed.

"Jimmy?" The name was muffled and barely distinguishable, but she understood immediately and pulled away from the contact, the only thing keeping him sane.

"He's…" The silence was like scalding water on Peter's insides, the averted gaze like a lighter under his sanity.

"In jail for attempted murder."

Everything was falling apart around Pete. His only real friend was about to be punished for protecting him, the only person he had ever loved was a vegetable, and he had been the person to drag everybody else down with him. He wanted to scratch his eyes out, jerking weakly on his restraints, faltering when they didn't give in to his futile attempt and hitting the back of his head against the pillow.

Mrs. Phillips seemed to curl in on herself, fiddling with the hem of her skirt and staring at the tiles under her feet. It was all she could do to keep from melting into nothing at the absolutely broken expression on Peter's face. Something in his apologetic hazel eyes made her chest tighten, something she recognized and hated that she couldn't help.

"I need to see Gary." Pete hissed out, swallowing dryly and blinking tears out of his cloudy vision.

"No, you can't he's-" His look caught her off guard, the teacher having snapped in his direction at the almost indistinguishable request.

"Please." He tried again, more desperately, more drawn-out.

"No, I – that would be…" Mrs. Phillips's eyes softened when he turned to look at the ceiling, bruised Adam's apple rolling with another swallow.

"I'll see what I can do." She finally faltered, then stood, intent on going home and getting proper sleep. They both knew Pete wouldn't have that luxury.


	34. One and the Same

One and the Same

[A/N: I want to put warnings in here, but the warnings would spoil it. Erm… Beware, there's violence. And Bible quotes, 'cause I was watching Pulp Fiction the other day.]

Pete was released from the hospital the next day. Mrs. Phillips walked him out in the unnecessary wheelchair, to the car she had parked just outside the doors. He held his damaged cheek the whole time, releasing the stinging wound only to buckle his seatbelt like a good citizen. The drive to Happy Volts was tense, and he slipped out of the car as soon as it was stopped, leaving her alone in the still-running vehicle.

Peter approached the gates, followed soon after by the teacher, and they were let in. The techs led them to the sub-par medical facility in the building, a private room with Gary settled in the bed. Pete held back a sob at his condition, shooting to his side and letting his hands hover above the battered boy.

Gary looked worse than Pete imagined he would. There were purple bruises on his face, his nose was swollen from being displaced then popped again, and his jaw was slack. The welts around his eyes made it so that they were nothing but slits on his face, a cut stitched up on his eyebrow. Pete brushed his fingers over the jut of Gary's collarbone, shone by the v-neck of his scrubs, and whined in his throat.

The tears he had refused to let fall were dripping down his face and staining Gary's blanket and clothing with little wet spots, leaving the shaking male nothing more than a wreck of a human; what was once a person was now nothing more than sniffling and sobbing and labored breath through clenched teeth. Mrs. Philips put her hand on his shoulder, but he batted it away and rested his forehead on Gary's slowly-moving chest. The steady beep of his pulse was the only thing that interrupted the noisy sobs Pete was letting out.

"Alone…" Peter managed, and Mrs. Phillips gave him a solemn stare, leaving him in a hiccupping heap and motioning for the two technicians who had guided them there to follow her.

"I'm so sorry, Gary. So, so sorry." It didn't sound quite right – between gasps of breath and his wired-shut jaw – but it didn't matter, not when Gary couldn't hear him.

Pete reached for his hand and held it tightly in his own, pressing his forehead against the clammy skin, listening to the steady beep above him, feeling the rise-and-fall of Gary's chest as it made his sleeve brush against his arm with every motion. He sucked in a few more labored breaths, kissing the bloody bandages wrapped around Gary's knuckles.

When the smaller of the two brushed his cheek affectionately against the back of Gary's hand, it was suddenly yanked out of his grasp, and he didn't have time to react before it was colliding with the uninjured side of his face. Pete was flung backwards, flipping onto his stomach and struggling towards the door.

Behind him was the whine of a flat line, bare feet on tile, a chair protesting as it was yanked from next to a table. Gary was standing in front of him, trapping the chair under the door handle. The sadist turned to the then-still male, then stepped out of sight again, the dainty teen wiggling towards the door that seemed so far away. He could feel the sadist's presence behind him, crying through his teeth, wondering just how he had fooled doctors into thinking that he was in a coma.

There was pressure on Peter's ankle, and then there was all of Gary's weight resting on the awkward angle of it. It stretched out, the rubber of the bottom of his shoe unable to keep his toes from sliding backwards. There was the awkward feeling of being bent the wrong way, then a healthy pop, then a very unhealthy-sounding crack, and Pete was incapable of making enough noise to alert the techs with his jaw wired shut.

"_The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men."_

There was a heavy thud behind the struggling male, scratching uselessly against the floor as his hips were yanked upwards, his chin meeting the tile with a shooting of white-hot agony. He was thankful that the pain killers muted all of it, that the gentle pulsating of his ankle should have been screaming, that the new bruise on the bottom of his already-battered chin should have been an unbearable ache. Pete felt Gary grind against him, rubbing with a familiar kind of tease.

"I'm going to fuck you bloody, and you're going to love it for whatever sick reason." Gary spoke so conversationally it made Pete want to vomit.

There were calloused fingers under the waist of the smaller male's pants, and they were yanked down his hips, to his thighs, another pained noise leaving his throat. He squirmed more fervently, oh-so-close to the door that might as well have been miles away with Gary rutting shamelessly against him. The tears were hot on his face, and he could almost hear the sear of them hitting the floor.

"_Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children."_

"I'm doing it because I'm a monster." Gary purred, the rustle of clothing evidence of him pulling it down.

There was burning. Pete yelped against the floor, forehead pressed firmly to it as Gary drove his hips brutally forward, void of compassion or guilt or even humanity. He writhed in pain, more tears stinging down his cheeks and leaving cold streaks of moisture as they went. He was hard, and he didn't understand why.

"You're loving it because you're a monster." Peter scratched at the floor, Gary moving in, out, in, out.

"You and I, we're not people, we just pretend to be." The friction was fading, and Pete refused to accept exactly why that was, to register what was dripping down the back of his thighs with warm viscosity.

"We're one in the same." A few more pounds into the smaller male's prostate, and he was twitching with thrill, using his good arm to press himself against the male behind him, moaning loudly even through his teeth.

Gary slipped his hands up Peter's disheveled dress shirt, dragging his nails down the pale expanse. He shuddered as the other teen tightened and came, followed by the sadist almost immediately. There was a moment of stillness before the older male fell onto his heels, Pete weakly struggling onto his back to look at his attacker.

"_And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers."_

"You'll leave, won't tell anybody, then you'll come back when you're not bleeding anymore and I'll fuck open the scars." Gary and Pete were both thinking, one with a kind of philosophical sleepiness, the other crying silently.

He saw the battered face, the distant eyes that were so void of guilt, the slight smirk on his features, and Peter's chest burned with hate. He looked down at his broken ankle, sniffling loudly, then at Gary again, who was staring at something in the distance. He didn't want to admit it, but everything Gary had said was true, the sociopath who had just taken him so violently was the only person without emotions to muddle the truth, and before either of them knew it, his good leg shot in the air.

It hit Gary's jaw and his teeth clattered together, something squishing with impact. It seemed like it was in slow motion when he fell backwards, every bit of Peter's strength forced into that one, oddly powerful attack. A wet kind of crack rang out in the room like no other sound the dainty male had ever heard, and he gasped aloud.

Gary twitched. His mouth fell open and his eyes rolled backwards, into the swollen, damaged skin of his face, gurgling blood. Air left his raggedly-moving chest with little pink-red bubbles, and he sucked in another breath before he was completely still. Pete gawked in horror as a red puddle expanded from where his head had hit the hard floor.

"_And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you."_

**FIN.**

[A/N: I would like to thank myself for writing this thing, my readers for, y'know, reading it, FF for ignoring it thus far, the various artists that gave me brainfuel, and Skylar for helping me plot. I'm kinda sad that this thing isn't gonna be in my life anymore. Who am I gonna write angsty porn about now?]


	35. Prologue

Prologue

[A/N: I know, I know, it was supposed to be the end, but I couldn't keep away. And SOMEBODY wouldn't stop hand-feeding my muse. Besides, it did end abruptly, and none of the problems were formally resolved, so I prologued it. Like a boss.]

It wasn't raining. It was too close to summertime, and the spring rains had mostly passed. The ground was ashy under Peter's feet, wet and soggy and clean-smelling where it had been dug out and pushed into a pile next to the hole that the young man couldn't take his eyes off of. It was horrifying, so he managed to pry his hazel gaze away.

The first thing he saw was Gary's father. He looked stern, with a displaced kind of demanding, like everyone there was below him. He didn't portray the monster that Pete knew he was, the man who had driven his own child into an adolescent grave. His eyes were icy and had a sting to them, reminiscent of the capabilities of Gary's gaze when he was angry. There were two prison guards lingering near him.

The woman hanging off of Mr. Smith's arm was worn-looking. There were dark circles under her eyes, as though she hadn't slept in ages, the jut of her cheekbones making the sunken orbs seem almost sinister. When Pete found the courage to look into them, he shuddered visibly at the lack of substance. She was nothing more than a walking corpse, eaten away by an abusive marriage and a hatred for her children.

They looked wealthy. Everything about the funeral was wealthy; the pristine headstone, the mountain of white roses, the clothing that everyone who Pete didn't recognize wore. In the crowd, Mrs. Phillips, Jimmy, and Peter looked so out of place. They all had puffy eyes, even the boy who had tried to kill Gary on several occasions, mainly feeding off of the sorrow dripping from the small male's frame. None of the other attendants had been crying.

After Gary had drifted away on the floor of the medical center, Pete sobbed for hours in the spot he had been left in. It was an uncontrollable fit of sobs, intakes of air that were more swallow than breathing, until the orderlies became suspicious and found him. He didn't have to say anything in explanation; the way he was bleeding told the entire story, and he was taken back to the hospital.

After so long of refusing to accept it himself, he told the authorities every gruesome detail, every little happening. He wasn't even prosecuted; Gary's parents didn't want to bother to try and press charges, not when there was so much evidence stacked against them. The threat of it coming to light kept them hidden away through the entire affair.

Jimmy was released on the grounds of defense, that he was protecting Peter from his abuser, and though there was a little bit of questioning about why he hadn't told anybody, the police gave up after they realized that he was ceaselessly loyal. Nobody suspected that Mrs. Phillips ever knew anything.

There was a story about how the heir of the Smith fortune was killed in a bus crash, and it went over pretty well with the people around the school, save the occasional rumor that was so far from the truth it made Pete scoff with a secret kind of spite. He was invisible again at school, which he was thankful for, especially since Jimmy had become unbelievably protective and almost beat in the face of every bully who even looked at him wrong.

Peter's parents, after hearing about what had happened, asked him if he wanted to move far, far away from everything, but he didn't have the heart to leave. He had two wonderful friends that supported him, that loved him, that would help him as he dragged himself through the muck of guilt. He also couldn't stand the thought of forgetting Gary. It was strange, but he didn't care; nothing had to make sense if it felt right.

Things seemed to almost fall back to normal. It was like Gary was throwing a massive fit and was avoiding the dainty teen on purpose, a toddler scorned. He could feel the ghosting of presence at night, weight on his chest, tingling fingers on the parts of him that his torturer seemed to like the best, but Pete always woke up, and the illusion was gone. Gary was dead. He wasn't going to break through his door in the middle of the night to have his way. He wasn't going to "apologize" for something he had done wrong. He wasn't going to snap up next to him with terror and hate in his eyes then look for comfort. Pete needed to stop deluding himself.

Looking at the redwood casket seemed to solidify his loss, and he hadn't cried that intensely since the day it had happened, only then it was more of a horrified disbelief, a chest-tightening fear that had pumped through his veins and down his cheeks. The way he sobbed against Mrs. Phillips was different; it was _feeling_.

The breathtaking coffin was lowered into the ground with the whirring of machines, and Pete tried following the travesty. He fell to his knees, then to his hands, then into a fetal position on the grass dusted with specks of deep earth. Mrs. Phillips knelt beside him, not understanding why he was in so much pain, what was happening, the reason behind his choking sobs. The Smiths watched him with unfeeling eyes.

"Nobody ever loved him." Peter told the ground.

"You did, Pete. You loved him."


End file.
